


Runaway

by ronandhermy



Series: The Runaway Race [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronandhermy/pseuds/ronandhermy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During an investigation by Child Protective Services it is revealed that Ian is not Frank Gallagher's son but Clayton Gallagher's. Ian goes to live with his new found family but it's like they say, you can take the kid out of the Southside but you can't take the Southside out of the kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Run

The first time he ran away he was ten years old and he’d been home for a week. Except it wasn’t his home, it was his newly revealed Stepford Dad’s home complete with Suburbia Barbie Mom and Suburbia Barbie Little Brother, and he didn’t fit in there. So it wasn’t really running away, it was running back. Running back home to the Southside where Fiona and Lip and Carl and Debbie were all waiting for him. They were his real family, no matter what some stupid paternity test and court order said. 

It had taken him a week to slip away from the overly attentive and guilt ridden attention his new dad was smothering him with. A week to figure out the locks, to steal enough cash from his dad’s wallet, and to make the walk to the nearest bus station, to hop on the first bus he could in order to transfer to the L. A few train stops later and he was home. Well, back in the neighborhood at least. As soon as his feet hit that Southside ground though he was off and running towards home. 

Home. Where Fiona would be cooking some form of pasta while trying to study for a make-up test because she’d missed the actual test because she’d picked up an extra shift at the diner. Where Lip would be reading some book with far too many numbers in it and plotting some new scam. Where Debbie and Carl would be bickering about some toy one minute and then playing hide-and-seek the next. Where Frank would be passed out in the corner if he wasn’t down at the Alibi. 

They’d all gotten to come home after Child Protective Services had run their gambit on them. Except Ian. Because somehow in the court proceedings his parentage had come up as questionable and a paternity test was ordered. Then, in one of the worst moments of Ian’s life, it was revealed he was not Frank Gallagher’s son. And it had all snowballed from there. They found Ian’s real father and he was willing to take Ian in. When that decision had been announced Ian had screamed and cried and clung to Fiona and Lip until CPS had to pull him away. Fiona had promised she’d get him back and Lip swore they couldn’t keep them apart. And Ian believed them, because out of the whole wide world they were the only two people who hadn’t let him down. 

But he missed his family and a week was just too long to go without having Fiona wake him up in the morning or fighting with Lip over the first shower or reading to Debbie or getting Carl down from whichever roof he’d managed to climb up on. So he’d run home and when he’d burst into the living room it was like he’d never left. They didn’t treat him any differently, they were just glad he was home. 

Except when Clayton showed up the next day, bright and early, in his silver suburban mini-van. Drove it straight to the front door of the Gallagher’s in the shitty Southside and it was then that Ian knew he wasn’t going to be let go of that easy. No one drove a mini-van from the Northside into the Southside unless they were lost or looking to get robbed. Or, in the case of Clayton Gallagher, you were retrieving your runaway son. 

“It’s time to come home Ian,” Clayton had said, voice even and calm, as he sat completely out of place on the decades old sofa, “your mother and I were worried sick about you.”

“But I am home,” Ian tried to defend. “This is my home.”

“Ian, I know this has been a bit of a shock to the system for you, but we’re all going to need to make adjustments now. And there are going to be rules. You can’t just go running off to the Southside in the middle of the night. It’s extremely dangerous, what if you’d gotten hurt? Jacob cried when he couldn’t find you this morning,” Clayton took a deep breath but before he could speak again Lip’s voice piped up from the stairs.

“You should go with him Ian.”

“What?” Ian turned toward his brother in shock. 

Lip sat on the stairs, his arms resting on his knees and his eyes were firmly fixated everywhere but Ian.

“You can’t be serious,” the younger boy protested.

“Oh yes, very serious,” Lip continued, “He’ll be a good dad Ian. Not like Frank. You’ll go to good schools and have nice things. You’ve got a chance out of this hell hole and you need to take it.”

“What if I don’t want to take it? What if I want to stay with you? Huh, you ever thought about that? I thought nothing could ever keep up apart,” Ian’s voiced cracked as he spoke, trying not to cry. All he could feel was betrayal. His family didn’t want him. His brother didn’t want him. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Lip was on his feet and down the stairs, pulling Ian into a hug to prevent him from running. “You’re my brother. You’ll always be my brother. Nothing will ever change that. But you’re getting out.”

“But I want to stay with you.” Ian didn’t even bother to stop his tears anymore as he clung to his brother. “Fiona,” came his plaintive cry. The last life line he might have to his old home.

“Ian,” Fiona struggled to speak, her hands running through her hair. 

Seeing his sister’s struggle Lip removed the decision from her hands. “Fiona’s the one who called him.”

There was a silence. A silence that cackled and spoke of the shifting in realities. “What?” came the slow disbelief from the red headed boy.

“I’m sorry,” the teenage girl tried to say but her younger brother spoke over her attempt at an explanation.

“She had to call Ian, if she didn’t and the cops came here and found you that would make us kidnappers. And even if we didn’t get charged with kidnapping we’d be aiding in the delinquency of a minor and abetting a runaway. Fiona could get charged as an adult. I could go to Juvie. Start that Gallagher record early.”

“So you called to save your own skin?” Ian asked, as he backed away from Lip and Fiona slowly, an expression of disbelief on his face. He was confused. And hurt. So unbearably hurt he could barely stand to look at the two people who had professed that they would never let him down. What a crock of shit. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Fiona protested. “We love you Ian--”

“You just don’t want me, is that it?” Ian cut her off. “One week in the Northside and all of a sudden I don’t belong?” 

“You will always belong here. Do not think for a second that you don’t,” Fiona spoke with a will that would not be contested, “We have done everything we can and we’re going to keep trying to get you back. But you can’t run away from this. None of us can. So we’re just going to have to put on our big kid pants and deal with it. Now come here,” she ordered, opening up her arms to give her little brother a fierce hug. “You staying with your dad doesn’t mean you don’t belong here. It just means you belong there too. Understand?” Ian nodded his head but he refused to let go.

It had taken some more coaxing and promises of future visitation before Ian had allowed himself to be buckled into that mini-van that stuck out like a sore thumb on this block. He was all cried out and he felt defeated in a way he hadn’t before. It was a hallow feeling, like all of the love and belonging he thought he’d once had, had somehow leaked out. He was being sent back to a new life he’d never asked for and he was expected to just accept it. 

He couldn’t be sure but before Clayton got into the car he thought he heard Fiona warn him that if Ian wasn’t allowed to at least come visit on the weekends he’d have more than a runaway kid to deal with. It wasn’t enough, nothing ever seemed to be enough on the Southside, but it was a start. For Clayton had assured him that after he served his two weeks of grounding he would be allowed to have sleepovers on the weekends with his siblings. 

He tried to tell himself not to look back as they drove away but he couldn’t help twisting around in his seat to look back at his old home. Lip stood on the porch watching the mini-van drive off while Debbie and Carl played in the yard. Clayton spoke up as they turned the corner, “You know I will try and be a good father to you. They weren’t wrong about that.” 

Ian sighed and tried not to look at the face that was so much like his own. “I know Dad, I know.” And Ian knew he had conceded except he wasn’t quite sure what. All he knew was that he felt much older then he should and much more lonely then he’d expected.


	2. The Second Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ian is 13 in this chapter whereas Mickey is soon to be 15.

Ian is thirteen when Monica comes back, her belly extended with whatever piece of Southside trash she’ll soon give birth to. He wasn’t expecting to see her, none of them were, but she’d just shown up out of the blue during dinner time acting as if everything was all right. Ian took one look at her and ran. 

He didn’t know where he was running he just knew he had to get away. His feet pounded the pavement and he found himself thinking it was a good thing Jacob had an overnight baseball camp he was at so he didn’t have to watch his older brother have a mental breakdown at seeing his birth mom. Maybe it was that thought about the camp that led Ian to dry heave in the dugout of the Little League field.

“What’s up with you faggot? Dealer sell you short?” came a cocky voice from deep within the dugout. 

“Who the fuck’s asking?” Ian responded in kind, his voice far shakier then he would have like. His Aunt Lucy -–you can call me Mom, I don’t mind (liar)—made him put a dollar into a jar every time she caught him swearing but that didn’t stop him from slipping into old habits once he was back home in the Southside. 

“I’m asking,” came the puffed up response and as Ian’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness he could make out a boy, not that much older than himself, relaxing on the bench, making his way through a six pack of beer. His hair was dark and blended into the shadows around him but his teeth were bright when revealed in a mocking grin. And he was dirty, like he hadn’t had a shower in over a week. 

“And I should care about you askin’ cause…?” Ian let the question trail off into disbelief as he continued to struggle to control his breathing.

“Cause I’m the one who’s allowing you to stand in my dugout, and if you piss me off I’m gonna have to stand up to beat your ass. So either answer the question or start running fuckhead, cause I’m fresh out of patience,” the crude boy responded, swallowing down another gulp of his beer. 

And just like that the pieces clicked into place, a vague memory of a defiant boy pissing on first base before stomping off the field played in Ian’s mind, and instead Ian said , “You’re Mickey Milkovich.”

The older boy mockingly clapped his hands for a few seconds before replying, “Right in one. Still doesn’t answer who you are.”

“Ian. Ian Gallagher,” the red headed boy responded, relaxing now that he had something else to focus on and that he knew this person, if only vaguely. 

“Gallagher?” Mickey questioned before continuing, “Right, you’re the kid who isn’t Frank’s. How is the Northside? They still wipe your ass up there or do you have to use gold leaf for that?”

“Fuck off,” Ian replied, nowhere near upset as he should have been. In-fact, he laughed. Just a short burst of cheer before he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cigarettes and lighter. When Aunt Lucy -–I would prefer it if you called me Mom, Ian (what will the neighbors say if you don’t?)—had first found them she’d screamed and grounded him for a month and then went on a tirade about the negative influences of the Southside on her new son. It didn’t make Ian stop smoking, it just made him get better at hiding it.

Except Jacob knew. That was the only reason he was allowed to come down to the Southside to hang out with his big brother’s other family. If he didn’t squeal Ian let him come. Simple as that. Ian figured it was good for the kid to have interactions with people who didn’t know where Cabo was let alone vacationed there. Give him some perspective or some shit. 

Ian walked over to the dirty boy and offered him a smoke. The boy took it without thanks and that made Ian grin for some reason. 

“So why’re you here Northside?” Mickey asked after blowing smoke out of his nostrils. 

“Well when two people fuck sometimes a sperm hooks up with an egg,” Ian laughed as Mickey just shot him a glare.

“Very fucking funny,” Mickey snapped. “Forget I asked.” And he drank another gulp of his beer. 

There was silence in the dugout for a time, the only noise being the occasionally scraping of metal as Mickey opened another beer or the sound of a cigarette being stubbed out at the filter. It was calm. It was peaceful, in its own strange way, and Ian found himself grateful for the company. 

“Monica showed up today,” Ian found himself saying into the silence. “My birth mom,” he answered Mickey’s inquiring look. 

“Well shit,” Mickey replied, sucking in a lungful of smoke. It was the closet to sympathy he’d ever get. 

“Yeah, she just walks in every time like it’ll all be ok. Like we won’t all remember how she walked out the last time and the time before that and the time before that. And now she’s pregnant. Again. Kid’s probably not Frank’s either,” Ian lit another cigarette. “Dumb bitch.”

“All moms are,” Mickey replies, his voice more subdued then it had been. Ian hadn’t thought he’d actually listen to him. The red head just nodded in agreement. 

“Here,” Mickey thrust a beer at him. Ian took the drink and took the biggest gulp he could. It tasted vaguely like bitter piss and it burned as it went down but Ian still drank it. He drank the whole can that night as he stayed in the dugout sharing his smokes with Mickey Milkovich. They didn’t talk much during that night. There was no need to.


	3. The Third Run

Ian is fifteen and working at a corner store called the Kash and Grab in the Southside. He’d told Daddy Clayton how it would foster self-growth and encourage independence while providing him some cash to spend with friends that couldn’t be supplemented by his allowance. When he’d mentioned it would look good on college applications and wouldn’t interfere with either school or JROTC his dad had reluctantly given his permission. 

The real reason, well reasons, Ian got the job was so that he could help Fiona out with bills and so that he had an excuse to spend more time with his siblings. If he had to put up with the store owner’s less then subtle glances so be it. He may be gay, something he’s always really known about himself, but he wasn’t desperate enough to fuck a married guy. It spoke of way too many daddy issues that Ian’s shrink had tried to get him discuss in their weekly sessions. Another point of surrender with Dad; he was to attend weekly counseling sessions in order to address any issues that may have occurred as a result of parental neglect in his early life. Fuck it, at least he was back in his own neighborhood, if only for a few hours a week. 

Then one day Jacob came stumbling into the store, his school uniform ruffled, his lip split and his eyes red from crying. He looked so similar to Ian, if only a bit shorter with more freckles and a longer nose, that it was impossible to mistake them for anything but brothers. “Ian,” the boy had cried, throwing himself into his big brother’s arms.

“Jacob, what are you doing here? I thought you had baseball practice,” Ian scolded as he visually checked to make sure the split lip was the only injury on his little brother.

“I skipped,” Jacob snuffled, “I just wanted to see where you worked and Mom wouldn’t let me. She kept saying it was too dangerous but if it’s too dangerous for me why would she let you work here? So I came down and then some guys pulled me into an alley and took my backpack and hit me.” 

In that moment Jacob looked like he was ten instead of thirteen and Ian felt older then Fiona. “Who did it?” Ian asked, anger coursing through his veins, “What’d they look like?”

As Jacob began to describe his attackers Ian became even angrier. Fucking Milkovichs. He was going to kill Mickey for this. No one fucked with the Gallaghers, not even the Northside ones. He took his apron off, grabbed his coat and said, “I’m going to get your stuff back but you have to stay here,” before he ran out of the store and down the familiar city blocks. 

Righteous anger fueled his steps as he ran towards that derelict looking house at the end of the block. He grabbed a tire iron from the porch before opening the door, --of course the Milkovichs didn’t lock it—and headed straight for Mickey’s room. No one else seemed to be in the house but Ian still shut the bedroom door behind him, that way if anyone tried to jump him he would be able to hear their approach. 

Mickey had apparently decided that after a hard day’s work of thievery a mid-afternoon nap was in order. He was sprawled out on his bed and, even in his anger, Ian did have to admit the violent boy did have a nice ass. Ian poked Mickey with the tire iron, gripping it tightly in a mixture of fear and anger. “Where’s the backpack Mickey?” Ian asked, his voice nowhere near as strong as he would have liked it.

“Gallagher?” came the sleepy confusion as Mickey began to wake up.

“The backpack Mickey,” Ian demanded.

“All right, all right,” came the sleepy response and, for a brief moment, Ian thought everything was going according to plan. That was until Mickey launched himself at Ian and then all of a sudden they were both fighting each other. It was Southside style, which meant fighting dirty and rough and with everything you had, and Ian and Mickey excelled at it. But maybe Ian’s time on the Northside had made him softer, dulled his edge a bit, because he ended up the loser with Mickey straddling him, preparing to bash his skull in with the tire iron. 

Except that didn’t happen. When Ian was preparing to lose some brain function he noticed the twitch in Mickey’s pants. Holy hell, the fight had got him hard. And just like that the tables turned. They were ripping each other’s clothes off in and touching each other and then Mickey was on his knees and Ian was inside of him. It was amazing and fantastic and dirty as fuck and Ian knew he was never going to top this moment. 

After, when they were putting on clothes again, Mickey tossed the backpack at Ian’s feet. Ian moved toward him, but Mickey turned away saying, “You kiss me and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

Ian supposed he should have minded but he didn’t. They had time after all. And it was the Southside way. Just because you fuck someone doesn’t mean nothing. But Ian knew something was different with Mickey and Ian was nothing if not patient. So he had time.

When Ian returned the backpack to Jacob he was greeted with thanks and a gasp of dismay at the large black eye he was now sporting. He knew he was in for a lecture tonight, again, about not getting into fights, again. But he really couldn’t care. After all, he’d just gotten laid.


	4. The Fourth Run

It’s been three months since this thing with Mickey started up –Ian’s not really sure what to call it because it’s not just a booty call but they aren’t really boyfriends either—and Ian’s as happy as the cat that’s caught the canary. Sure his shrink is still on him to tell his family he’s gay, but Jacob and Lip know and that’s more than enough people knowing for now. And yeah, he had to get a tutor in math but he’d tested into Honor’s English so that was pretty awesome. And now every time he worked a shift Mickey would show up eager for a fuck. Life was pretty good.

He was sitting on one of the picnic benches outside of his school, St. Xavier’s Academy, preparing to light a cigarette when he saw him. At first he thought he might be hallucinating or projecting or something but the figure kept moving towards him.

“Lip?” the red-headed boy asked and, without waiting for a response, launched himself at the older boy. It was a hug and a tackle and it was returned in kind. 

“Lip, what’re you doing here?” Ian asked, a grin stretching across his face, bundling his freckles together. 

“What, a man can’t visit his own brother?” Lip asked in turn with a grin and he ruffled Ian’s hair until it stood every which way. “Look at you in your fancy school uniform. You tie your tie yourself or does Daddy still do it for you?”

“Fuck off,” Ian laughed, pushing Lip’s hands away from his hair. No one ever came up to the Northside to visit him, no one ever saw his school, but Lip was here now. “So what are you doing here? Thinking of enrolling?”

“Shut up man, like they’d even let me in through the front door,” Lip replied, his shoulder hunching down a bit as he took a deep breath. “Monica’s back.”

It took a moment for it to sink in. “What?” was all Ian could think to say, his happiness at seeing his brother rapidly fading away.

“Yeah she came back with her black dyke girlfriend. They want to take Liam away with them.”

“Well they can piss off. They’re not taking Liam,” Ian said. He was angry now, so very angry. No one was going to take his little brother away. He wasn’t going to let what happened to him happen to Liam. 

“No shit. Monica’s having us all over for dinner tonight to try and break up the family. She thinks whatever shit she’s serving will go down easier if we’re all down with food poisoning first. Anyway, we want you there tonight. Show a solid front and all that,” it was as close as Lip was going to get to asking Ian to come. Except he wasn’t asking because you didn’t ask family to be there for one another. You were just expected to show up and do the heavy lifting. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there. I just gotta let Dad and Lucy know I won’t be home for dinner,” Ian replied, as he brought out his cell phone and sent a quick text to his dad. If they got mad it’s not like they could do that much about it. He was going.

“Hey Lip,” a voice that had yet to fully transition through puberty called out in excitement. Jacob trotted over from his friend group to give Lip a brief hug before beaming up at him.

“Hey Jake,” Lip said, his voice lacking the enthusiasm but not the warmth with which he had greeted Ian. 

“Are you coming to dinner tonight? Mom’s making pot roast,” the boy explained, still far too innocent for a Gallagher. There was a reason Debbie and Jacob got along so well, they were both sweet at the center. 

“Um, no. Not tonight. Ian’s going to come and help us out with a problem we’re having,” Lip replied, shifting from side to side, clearly uncomfortable with the course of this discussion.

“Oh, what sort of problem?” Jacob asked, tilting his head to the side.

Lip didn’t answer, just looked at Ian and then back and Jacob. It was almost as if he were seeing the reality of their relationships in a way no one else could. It wasn’t a kind look but it wasn’t a cruel one either. It was a blank one. A stare that spoke of far too many things left unsaid.

“Monica’s back in town,” Ian finally sighed and gave Jacob an honest answer.

“What?” Jacob asked, his expression one of disbelief, “You can’t seriously be thinking of going and seeing her. Right, Ian? You’re not going to see her. Dr. Sherman said you should avoid triggering situations and I’m pretty sure seeing that woman will trigger something.”

“Woo, woo, woo,” Lip interrupted, “who the hell is Dr. Sherman?”

“My counselor,” Ian replied.

“Your shrink,” Jacob interjected.

“Jacob, shut up,” Ian warned before turning back to face Lip. “Look, it was part of the deal I made with Dad. As long as I’m working at the store in the Southside I have to see him.”

“Why do you need to see a shrink?” Lip asked before barreling on, “You don’t need therapy Ian. You’re a Gallagher. Gallaghers don’t do therapy.”

“Jesus Lip, scream it a little louder why don’t you, I don’t think people in Michigan heard you,” Ian shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed before continuing. “It’s not a big deal. He just gives me advice on stuff. Let it go Lip, it just means I get to see you guys more often.”

“You shouldn’t go,” Jacob protested, reaching out to grasp his brother’s arm. “Lip, don’t make him go.”

“He’s not making me do anything,” Ian explained. “I’m going because we’re family and family sticks together even through the tough shit. Especially through the tough shit.” He pulled his little red headed brother into a hug and spoke quietly, “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. If it gets bad I promise to call Dad and have him pick me up, all right?”

Jacob nodded but he still looked glum as Ian followed Lip out of the courtyard and into the parking lot. As they approached a shiny new car Ian just gave Lip a look and asked, “Fiona know her boyfriend is recruiting you?” Lip’s silence said it all. 

 

Well this had to be the most awkward family dinner Ian had ever attended by far which, when he thought about it, was really saying something. Monica was trying to make this all about her pain as if she hadn’t abandoned her kids over and over again while her girlfriend Bob was trying to act like the almighty man of the house. And then Frank was yelling about a settlement or something and then about how could Monica and him ever get back together again. Meanwhile all of the kids were trying desperately not to commit violent felonies against their parents. 

Ian couldn’t take it anymore. He knew he’d promised Jacob he would call if it got bad but this wasn’t just bad, this was catastrophic. If he didn’t get out of here he would either do or say something he would regret. 

“I’m,” Ian struggled to get out of his cramped seat, “I’m gonna go.”

“Where are you going?” Fiona asked, her frustration at the whole situation plain as day on her face.

“I’ve just got to go,” Ian replied, shoving his coat on.

“Ian, baby,” Monica began.

“Come back here and sit down you little shit,” Frank yelled as Ian reached the door. He wanted to turn around and yell at them all. He wanted to scream at Frank that he wasn’t his father so he didn’t get a say in Ian’s life anymore, not that he really cared before. And he wanted to yell at Monica for abandoning him so many times and he wanted to yell at his siblings for letting this women even stay under the same roof at them. But he didn’t. Instead he opened the door and ran.

He ran as fast and as hard as he could, trying to outrun whatever the hell was chasing him. Somehow he ended up in front of the Milkovich house and he knew it was stupid but right now he was long past caring. He pounded on the front door and thanked his luck when Mickey was the one to answer the door. 

“Gallagher? What the hell are you doing here?” Mickey asked, his eyes red from some pot he had smoked earlier.

“I need to hit something,” Ian got out, before he launched himself at Mickey. It wasn’t a fight to cause pain or do damage, it was a fight to feel alive. Ian knew that Mickey was holding back his punches, was corralling him to his bedroom with his kicks, and wasn’t even cursing him as much as he should have been. It was wild and unorganized and full of emotions Ian didn’t want to feel.

It ended with Mickey straddling Ian’s back, the red headed boy caught in a head lock on the floor. “Feel better now?” Mickey growled out as the boy beneath him slowly stopped his struggles. He tried to nod but it didn’t go anywhere.

Mickey let him go and Ian ended up curling in on himself on the floor. After a long silence Ian said, “Monica’s back. Again. Except this time she wants to kidnap Liam.” And then he was laughing, laughing so hard he started to cry, and then he was just sobbing into his hands while lying on Mickey’s dirty floor. “They didn’t want me,” Ian gasped out as he continued to sob. It wasn’t manly and it wasn't pleasant. It was ugly and dark and full of a childhood filled with broken promises. 

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered under his breath. Then Ian could hear him moving around before sitting down next to him. A flick of a match and then Ian smelled the familiar odor of pot. “Here,” Mickey said, thrusting the blunt into Ian’s face, “Smoke this.”

Ian took a large drag, and then another one, and then another until he felt himself becoming calm and weightless. He handed the joint back to Mickey as his tears slowed down before stopping. He lay on his back and looked at the broken lines in Mickey’s ceiling and he could feel Mickey lie down next to him. And they just stayed there, passing the blunt back and forth, back and forth, until Ian’s mind felt blissfully far away with only Mickey's steady breathing for company.


	5. The Fifth Run

The first person to catch him fucking Mickey turns out to be Aunt Lucy—you can call me Mom, Ian, I really don’t mind—and Ian has just turned sixteen years old. Mickey had just gotten out from a brief stint in Juvie a few days ago, one too many five finger discounts at the Kash and Grab, and Ian was horny as fuck. Mickey was too if the way his dick was straining against his jeans was any indication. 

Ian had grown, soon he’d be towering over Lip, and he’d filled out thanks to hours of JROTC. And Mickey, well let’s just say hours of exercise to fend off boredom hadn’t done him any harm. When Ian had gone with Mandy to pick up her brother he’d had to force himself not to drool at the sight of Mickey. Mandy had laughed when Ian said he was going with her but they’d become friends during the time Mickey was locked up. It wasn't unreasonable that he’d want to spend time with her. 

The only issue, well one of the main issues, with being gay on the Southside meant that there weren’t exactly an abundance of places to fuck. The store was all right every now and then but Ian could fully appreciate the wonders of a bed. And since no one knew Mickey on the Northside, and no one would really care up there, or even think that Mickey would be up there in broad daylight, Ian had somehow managed to convince Mickey into coming home with him. Dad was at work, Lucy was at some book club meeting or something and Jacob was at another one of his baseball day camps, getting ready to try out for the high school team. The house, Ian had grinned to himself, was his for the day.

And well, having an empty house was nothing short of a miracle for two boys from the Southside who were used to people barging in at all hours and for less than honorable reasons. Having Mickey in his room was like a wet dream come to life for Ian. In-fact he was pretty sure he’d just lived out one of his more raunchy dreams featuring the dirtiest Milkovich. 

They were currently on round three, Ian clutching Mickey’s hip in one hand while bracing himself with his other hand on Mickey’s shoulder. Occasionally he would bury his head into the nape of Mickey’s neck, moaning for lack of words. Mickey just grunted and thrust back, eager as always to reach the finish line of this dirty two person race. They were both so lost in each other that Ian didn’t hear his bedroom door open and it wasn’t until they had both orgasmed that Ian and Mickey realized they weren’t alone. 

Standing in the doorway of Ian’s room was Aunt Lucy with a look of utter shock painted on her face. Without even thinking about it Ian yelled, “Shit. Mom…”

“Why don’t you and,” Lucy’s voice faltered for a moment before she found her suburbian mom vocabulary and continued, “your friend get dressed and we’ll discuss this downstairs.”

“But,” Ian tried to protest even as Mickey was scrambling for his pants.

“Downstairs. Both of you,” Lucy stated as she turned and closed the door.

Ian and Mickey just looked at each other and Ian knew they were thinking the exact same thing: Fuck. 

 

\---------

 

Ian and Mickey sat at the dining table across from Lucy, all three parties trying to pretend that no sex had occurred that led to this moment.

“Does your friend have a name?” Lucy finally asked, her voice a bit tight as she made micro-adjustments to the position of her place-mat. 

“Mickey,” Ian replied when it became clear that Mickey wasn’t going to say anything. He had wanted to bolt but no way in hell was Ian going to face this alone. “His name’s Mickey.”

“Oh,” was all Lucy responded. The quite was oppressive with its awkwardness. No one spoke for a time until Lucy glanced up from the table and actually looked at Ian, “I don’t mind that you’re gay. It was just a bit of a shock finding out, well, finding out like that. What if Jacob had been the one to find you two?” Ian decided he wasn’t going to mention that Jacob already knew about him and Mickey. “I’d just wish you would have told us. We love you Ian and we accept you no matter who you choose to love.”

Ian and Mickey glanced at each other before awkwardly shifting in their respective chairs. They didn’t really talk about feelings and they sure as hell weren’t going to talk about them in front of Ian’s Northside mom. Mickey was clutching the arms of his chair tight, his knuckle tattoos standing out with vulgar clarity. 

“Thanks Lucy,” Ian said slowly, feeling as though he’d been caught in an after school special. Don’t do drugs, what to do when your friend is being bullied, how to handle your parent figure finding you giving it to another boy up the ass. “You, you won’t tell right? I mean, it’s private and not everyone is as accepting as you.”

Mickey was giving him that look. That look that said you’re-pulling-the-wholesome-innocent-apple pie- good ol’ American boy- act and it’s kinda freaky. Well Mickey was going to have to deal with being freaked out, Ian was too busy saving both their asses. The fact that Mickey wasn’t sprinting away from all of this was a fucking miracle so Ian wasn’t going to push his luck by thinking Lucy wouldn’t tell if she wasn’t asked.

“You’ll have to tell your father,” Lucy replies, neatly side-stepping the issue. But the ultimatum is there: tell your father or else. 

“Do I have to?” Ian can’t help but ask, feeling very much like the teenager he is.

“And Mickey I assume you’ll be staying for dinner. We’re having chicken tikka.” Lucy waits until Mickey has nodded his agreement, a reluctant jerk of the head, before she gets up and pours herself a glass of white wine. The awkward silence extends and continues until finally Mickey lurches to his feet and says, “I gotta piss” and heads off towards the upstairs bathroom.

Ian stands, with every intention of leaving, going back upstairs so that Mickey and he can come up with a game plan for the sudden family dinner tonight. If they’re going to live through an episode of the Twilight Zone they’re going to have some kind of escape code. Before he makes to the stairs however, Lucy speaks again.

“You know that’s the first time you’ve called me Mom,” she says, looking down at the glass on the counter. “All these years and you finally say it. Just like Jacob does when he gets caught playing video games past his bed time.” She looked at Ian, her eyes suspiciously bright, “I don’t care that you’re gay. I question your taste in men but I don’t care that you’re gay. You’re my son now Ian. You’re my son.”

And without thinking Ian moved to hug her as she started to cry. It only lasted a few seconds but it felt, if only for the briefest of moments, like they really were a family instead of pretending to be one to fit in with the neighbors. 

“Oh I’m fine,” Lucy exclaimed, briefly returning the hug before gently pushing him away. “And don’t think for a second you’re out of the woods. You’re grounded mister, two weeks.”

\------------

The dinner had been, strained seem too mild a word for the tension smothering every polite bite and snippet of conversation, but strained was what Ian was going with. It had been surreal to see Mickey seated at the dining room table being interrogated like he was a normal boyfriend. Dad had taken the news about his gay son surprisingly well and there had been hugs and promises of a fishing trip in the future with “just us guys.” Jacob had known for ages and didn’t care then, and he still didn’t care. 

Thank God for Jacob, was all Ian could think, he kept the conversation light and flowing. Without him Ian was pretty sure that Mickey would have either A: flipped out at some point or B: made a run for it or C: some combination of the two previous options. Ian knew he wasn’t being very helpful in-between trying to smother his grins and looking at Mickey but he couldn’t help it. He was happy. Maybe this wasn’t exactly how he planned on introducing Mickey, never actually thought he’d get the chance, but he was taking this opportunity and running with it. 

Dad let him borrow the Volvo to drive Mickey back to the Southside after dinner despite Lucy’s not so subtle protests. Once they were in the car Mickey instantly went about resetting all of the radio stations to rock, r&b, and hip-hop. Ian just laughed as he did it.

“That was fucking weird man,” Mickey complained once they were off Ian’s street. 

“Yeah, I know. But thanks for being a good sport about it,” Ian replied as he took another turn.

“Didn’t do it for you,” Mickey grumbled, refusing to look over at Ian.

“Okay,” Ian said, his tone saying he didn’t for one second believe Mickey.

“I’m serious,” Mickey exclaimed. 

“Yup. Gotcha,” Ian replied, still wearing his shit eating grin.

Mickey could protest all he liked, the fact remained that he had a family dinner at Ian’s where Lucy had introduced Mickey as Ian’s boyfriend to Ian’s Dad. It had been glorious. He would crow from the rafters if he thought he could get away with it. Instead he pulled the car into a dark alley and proceeded to give Mickey a very nice, long overdue thank-you blowjob. Scratch that, he gave his boyfriend a blowjob. His boyfriend who had met his parents. 

Ian grinned despite his full mouth. Patience, he reminded himself, patience had always been key with Mickey. And God damn if it was paying off.


	6. The Sixth Run

Ian is sixteen and he is happy. He’s not sure if he’s ever felt this content in his life and he doesn’t care because he’s happy now. The Alibi is packed for someone’s retirement party or something and everyone’s going at it. Jacob is trying to teach Debbie how to waltz while Carl demonstrates the best way to devour chicken nuggets to a giggling Liam. Fiona is laughing with Kev and Vee while they all throw back shots before grabbing their third beer. Frank is passed out under a bar stool and Lip is grinding on a laughing Mandy in some version of a mating dance while music blares from a stolen stereo. And Ian’s playing a game of pool with Mickey in-between watching his family enjoy this moment of stress-free living. 

He’s got a shot lined up for the right pocket when one of Mickey’s brothers –Iggy? Tony? Joey?-- stumbles into the bar, already three sheets to the wind. Ian ignores him and takes the shot. The red ball rocks back and forth on the edge of the socket, refusing to make up its mind of where it wants to go. Then Iggy’s crashing into the pool table, hardly able to stand up, his words slurred and mangled. But he gets one look at Ian and he starts laughing until he collapses on the pool table. 

Well now the game is ruined and Ian’s good mood is diminishing quickly. Mickey is glaring at his brother’s body, like it personally offended him that someone like this existed or at the very least ruined a perfectly good game of pool. But Ian knew not to say anything because the Milkoviches may be fuck-ups but they were fuck-ups who fought for each other. So Ian just helped grab Iggy under one arm while Mickey got on the other side and they dragged him into a corner where the older man began giggling to himself.

“What’s he on?” Ian asked, staring down at the now drooling man with mild disinterest. 

“Who the fuck knows. Probably a cocktail or some shit,” Mickey replies, giving his brother a kick in the leg for good measure. They both turn from him and begin resetting the pool table. They have time for another game after all.

“So Lucy asked about you,” Ian says, attempting to be casual and knowing he’s failing miserably at it.

“Oh,” Mickey’s tense now, his knuckles white as he grips his pool cue, “What’d she want?”

“She wanted to know when you’d be coming round for dinner again.” Ian lines up the breaker shot and lets loose. 

“Not happening,” Mickey replies, lining up his shot.

“Come on Mick, it’s not that big a deal,” Ian knows he’s whining. He doesn’t care.

“No fucking way man. Last time was bad enough. No way in hell I’m going to debate what place settings would be best for your little brother’s ballet party or whatever the hell he’s into these days,” Mickey makes his point by hitting one of the stripped balls into the middle pocket. 

“Think of it as an opportunity for free food,” the red headed boy grinned.

“No such thing as a free lunch Gallagher,” was the instant response. 

“Jesus Mick, it’s dinner not the fucking prom,” Ian rolled his eyes at Mickey’s attitude. 

“You coming to dinner Mickey?” Jacob asked, having stumbled out of the way of a few drunks attempt at a conga line. Without waiting for a response he continued, “I can show you some of the new baseball cards I got.”

“And why would I give a shit about that fire nut?” Mickey asked, taking another swig of his beer.

“Because they’re awesome. Duh,” Jacob responded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And to Jacob it probably was. As Ian was to JROTC so Jacob was to baseball. It was like one of those SAT questions Lip was forever answering for kids willing to pay for a decent score. 

Mickey just rolled his eyes while Ian laughed as he lined up his shot. “Not everyone thinks baseball’s as cool as you do Jake,” was the older red heads friendly reminder.

“The day I concern myself with the general population’s opinion is the day you become a pacifist,” Jacob countered, giving his brother a light punch in the arm before wandering back towards Debbie. 

“Little shit,” Mickey noted, not unkindly. 

Ian just shrugged in agreement before taking another shot. Solid, corner pocket, no indecision this time. As he was plotting another way of convincing Mickey to come to another dinner Ian’s phone rang. It was Linda. Ian gestured for Mickey to hold on as he answered the call.

“Hello?” he asked.

“He left,” came the sharp voice of his boss.

“What?” Ian’s brow scrunched in confusion.

“Kash. He left. For good.”

Ian could hear Linda attempt to catch her breath on the other side of the line.

“Do you want me to come in?” Ian finally asked, as the silence at either end dragged on. He didn’t really want to go into the store right now but it seemed the least he could do for someone who’d just been abandoned. 

“Yes, tomorrow. And if you know anyone who might need a job there’s a position now available,” came the shaky reply. There was chocking noise across the line and Ian knew she was crying. Ian wanted to hang up. 

He stayed on the line for a few more minutes, distantly listening to a grown woman break down on the phone to her teenage employee, before politely stating he had to go and clicking the “end call” button. He just stared down at his phone, unsure of what he was supposed to feel.

“Everything all right man?” Mickey questioned him, moving closer to Ian. Ian just looked up at the dark haired boy and gave a little tug of the lips that was a poor imitation of a smile.

“It’s fine,” he said, “But I may have just found a way for to get out from under your parole officer.”

“Shit man, really? What’ve you got in mind?” Mickey was eager as fuck to get out of tarring roofs. Although Ian could admit the older boy wore the rugged look well.

“Depends,” Ian smirked as he walked back to the pool table.

“On what?” Mickey asked in disbelief.

“On when you’re coming over for dinner,” Ian replied, not even looking at Mickey as he lined up his next shot. 

“For fucks sake Gallagher,” Mickey breathed out before taking another large gulp of beer. He looked around before biting the corner of his lip and finally stating, “Ok fine. Friday. But I ain’t wearing no tie or shit.” 

“Great,” Ian stood up straight, grinning even though he’d completely missed his shot, “Linda wants you and me to come in tomorrow morning. I’ll give you some on the job training.”

“Yeah,” Mickey snorted, giving Ian a long look over, “Training.” 

Ian just grinned before “accidentally” brushing against Mickey.

“Asshole,” was the fond response.


	7. The Seventh Run

Ian is sixteen and he hates Frank. He always has, when he was younger it was because he was his father and then later it was because he wasn’t actually his father at all. It was something Dr. Sherman had wanted him to discuss at length but every time Ian could only explain it as, “I hate him. It doesn’t matter for what since the result is always the same. I hate him for not being mine, for never wanting me, for neglecting us. I just hate him.”

And Dr. Sherman would ask, “Are you sure you’re not just angry because you don’t think Frank loves you?”

“He never loved me,” Ian would reply, “He only loves himself.” And then Ian would shut down and refuse to talk about anything after that. 

Now Ian knows why he hates Frank. In this moment he hates Frank for walking in on him and Mickey and causing Mickey to panic to the point of pre-meditating a murder. Frank’s murder. It’s a deep seated rage that’s boiling up inside of him and he wants to take the M-16 he’d been shown at JROTC practice and shoot Frank himself. He won’t. Because if Frank dies and the State finds out then everyone, except Fiona, ends up in foster care. And if Mickey gets pinned with the murder he’ll go away for life and Ian doesn’t want him to go away again. The first time was hard enough. So Ian won’t shoot Frank. But God he wants to. 

Instead Ian’s tracking down Frank to warn him to lay low and Frank has no concern for his own safety or Ian’s sexuality. In fact, he calls Ian “son” as though the past six years have never happened, as though Ian just sleeps over on the Northside during the weekdays. Does he still regard him as his son or has he just forgotten that he isn’t? Whatever the reason it doesn’t matter because Ian would kill Frank himself if he thought the consequences wouldn’t be as bad a destroying his family and prison. 

The next day Ian’s sitting in the loading dock of the store, trying to slowly smoke his third cigarette while he tries to come up with a plan to silence Frank without killing him and keep Mickey from being locked up. So far he’s got nothing but a steady burn in his throat and a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

Then Mickey bursts in and there’s the confrontation that leads to the argument that leads to Ian feeling like he’s just been punched in the gut as Mickey storms out of the store. The red headed boy doesn’t know what to do, so he locks the store and tries to remember how to breathe. He knows he’s crying but he’s trying not to so he pretends that if he doesn’t acknowledge the wetness on his cheek then it hasn’t happened. That he doesn’t feel shattered and jagged inside. 

When he goes home that evening he doesn’t acknowledge his parents or his brother, just heads up to his room and curls up on his bed facing the wall. He’s not looking at the various Army and Marine posters, just stares into nothing as Mickey’s words replay in his head. 

I’m done, done, done…You’re nothing but a warm mouth to me. 

Later, he’s not sure how much later, he hears Jacob open his bedroom door. He knows it’s Jacob because he’s the only one who doesn’t knock before entering. 

“What happened?” He asks, soft and concerned. Ian doesn’t respond so Jacob tries again. “Something with Mickey?”

And Ian gives a watery chuckle because he wants to tell his little brother everything but at the same time he doesn’t want to burden a fourteen year old with these relationship problems. He wants to vomit out all of his feelings but he pushes down the flood of words and says instead, “Yeah,” he swallows, and lifting his head slightly he looks at his little brother, “I think we broke up.”

Jacob doesn’t say anything, just nods before coming over to Ian’s bed and crawls into it. He wraps his arms around his big brother, his front pushing into Ian’s back, and Ian doesn’t push away Jacob’s hand when he goes to hold the older red head’s rough one. There is a silence that follows that has no expectations, and Ian knows he’s crying again because he feels a wetness leak out of his eyes. He doesn’t try to stop it because he knows Jacob won’t mind. 

After a time Jacob pushes closer into Ian and whispers, ever so softly, “I’m sorry that you’re sad.” 

“Me too,” Ian replies, softer then Jacob. 

And the two brothers lay there, the silence like a blanket they wrapped around themselves to ignore the world for just a little while. Just a little while until they were ready to face the harder realities of this existence.


	8. The Eighth Run

Ian is still sixteen and he’s sitting in the college counselor’s office at school. He has a black eye from a fight a few days ago, --it doesn’t matter, the other kid looks worse—and he’s trying not to give into the urge to nervously bounce his leg. Instead he is like stone, straight and unmoving, as he stares at Mr. Johnson with his comb over and overly neat tie, and the shiny posters of various colleges hanging behind his desk. 

“WestPoint?” Mr. Johnson asks, making sure he’s heard correctly, before continuing, “Well that’s certainly a noble ambition. Your JROTC officer says you’d make an excellent cadet and your GPA is hovering around their average acceptance rate. A 3.65 is nothing is scoff at considering the education, or rather lack thereof, you had been exposed to before you came to our school. I do think you might want to take a summer math class to maybe drive up the average of your math grade, perhaps trigonometry. What you really need to focus on though, is your SAT score and securing a letter of recommendation. Now for the SAT you can take a prep course, which I highly recommend, and as for the letter of rec.” Mr. Johnson stood up and began rifling through a filing cabinet. “I believe that either two or three members of the current Illinois state legislature are graduates of Xavier’s. I’ll give them a call and let them know your interests. Then once they’re on board I can arrange some meetings for you so they can meet you in person before writing you that letter of recommendation. Ah, here are their names.” He proceeded to write them down on piece of paper before handing it to Ian with the advice of “I recommend doing a little bit of research on them, just so you don’t step on any political bombs when talking to them.”

“Thank-you,” Ian replied. “Is there anything else I need to do?”

“Well I would suggest you also get a letter from one of your teachers, preferably one who will try and explain your proclivity for getting into altercations in a more favorable light,” Mr. Johnson said, gesturing vaguely at Ian’s black eye.

“He was bullying my brother,” Ian protested.

“Defense of the weak is a noble aspiration and I think if you asked—who do you have for chemistry again?” the older man asked.

“Kinney.”

“Ah, yes, Kinney. He’ll write you a stellar letter of recommendation. When he was younger he was a victim of bullying and I am sure he wished he had a loyal defender like your brother does. Now, “ the counselor began pulling out some more brochures, “I’m sure you know that WestPoint is highly competitive. In the chance that you don’t get in, although I think you have a very strong chance of acceptance, you should have some back up choices. You should look into the schools with ROTC programs, that way you can get your college education and become an officer. It may not be the same as WestPoint but it will be just as challenging.” 

Ian looked at the pamphlets, with the kids with smiling faces and bags full of books and Ian wondered if any of them had gone to bed hungry or had the power shut off. And he felt that old feeling creep up on him. The kind that asked “do you really think you belong here? Among us?” Something must have shown on his face because Mr. Johnson spoke up.

“Mr. Gallagher, I have no doubt whatsoever that you are going to go on to achieve great things. Whether it’s in the armed forces or not. You’ve come a long way from the sullen boy who got into a fight every other week and only knew half his multiplication tables. You’ve undertaken an immense challenge, education, and you’ve done admirably. You should be proud of yourself. I’m proud of you and I know your parents are as well.” 

Ian didn’t know how to respond. He often felt caught in-between being a balanced middle-class child and knowing he was from the gutter and that stench never really went away. “Is there anything else I need to do?” he asked instead, side-stepping the conversation he knew Mr. Johnson wanted to have. He was not some sobbing child in need of a heart to heart. 

“Has your English teacher talked to you guys about personal statements yet?” Ian nodded his assent. “Well then you’re going to need to write a killer one. A good personal statement will feel a bit like opening a vein up on the page. You need to write about what shaped you and how you want to shape yourself in the future. Talk about your past Ian, colleges love to see how you handle struggle.”

“But everyone struggles,” Ian couldn’t help but point out.

“True, but not everyone struggles in the same way,” Mr. Johnson replied, giving a closed lip smile. 

Ian just clutched the papers in his hands and thought about the SAT. He needed to talk to Lip.

8888

“WestPoint? Fucking WestPoint?” Lip’s disbelief is quickly giving way to anger and Ian is beginning to regret his decision to tell him about his future plans. “You want to go and die in some –stan for a country that ripped you away from your real family?”

“I guess I’m just a patriot,” Ian retorted, angry that he was having to defend this decision. 

“No, what you are is a dumbass,” Lip responded, moving to stand in-front of the door of his, Carl’s and Liam’s room to prevent Ian from leaving.

“Forget it, all right. It was stupid of me to even tell you in the first place. I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Ian replied, shoving into Lip as he tried to leave the room.

“Look, I just want what’s best for you and trust me Ian, dying for this piece of shit dirt is not what is best for you,” Lip attempted to reason. 

“I said to forget about it. The only reason I came down here was to ask you to help tutor me for the SATs. Forget it though; Dad’ll just sign me up for some prep course that’ll be taught by a guy who’s not even half as smart as you. But you know what, at least they won’t tell me I’m too stupid to go after my goal.” Ian finally got passed Lip and was heading down the stairs when Lip grabbed him.

“Wait, all right,” Lip spoke, refusing to be shaken off by Ian, “Just wait. Look, do you really want this?”

“Yes,” Ian replied firmly, looking into his brother’s eyes.

“Well shit,” Lip muttered to himself before saying, “All right, let’s do this.”

“You mean it?” Ian asked, his whole face lighting up. “You’ll help me?”

“Yeah man, I’ll tutor you in math or whatever and I guarantee you the highest score of your life on that SAT,” Lip promised, ruffling his little brother’s short hair. Ian laughed. “And,” Lip continued, “if all else fails I can always take the test for you, free of charge.”

“Family discount?” Ian asked.

“Family discount,” Lip agreed. 

“Great, I’ll be back tomorrow but I do actually really have to go. I promised Mom I’d go with her to the airport. Grandma and Grandpa are flying in from Florida in a few hours,” Ian said, turning to walk down the stairs. In doing so he missed the brief expression of betrayal on Lip’s face before it slid under a blank mask.

“Mom?” Lip asked. It was not a word they used lightly in the Gallagher household and when it was spoken it wasn’t with the warmth that was in Ian’s voice.

“Lucy. She likes it when I call her Mom,” Ian explained as he gathered some odds and ends he had left on the dining table. “And I think it makes it easier for Grandma and Grandpa. Anyway I got to go. I’ll come by tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” Lip assented, watching Ian go. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, hearing Ian blend in to another family so easily, but he knew it wasn’t a good feeling. All he wanted to do was drink and hit something. And part of it was because he’d encouraged it. Pushed Ian into Clayton’s arms saying, in the metaphorical sense, “Here, have my baby brother. Treat him as your own.” And now he was angry that they had done just that. 

“Fuck,” Lip breathed out, before grabbing his hoodie and heading out. So much for the brothers Gallagher.


	9. The Ninth Run

Ian is sixteen, but he’ll be seventeen soon, and he's running laps on the public school’s track in the Southside. Normally, since it was the summer, Mandy would help him out by manning the stopwatch as he tried to beat his own record and get his mile under six minutes. But she was helping Lip out on the Ice Cream truck today so he was on his own. It was kinda nice though, the quiet and the steady pulsing of the heart. It gave him time to think, or not think, as the case may be.

He was on his tenth lap when he saw a figure jump down from the bleachers. A very familiar figure. Ian slowed his pace before stopping all together. “Mickey?”

“Hey G.I. Joe.,” Mickey called out, friendly. Like their last conversation never happened. When they were standing in front of each other Mickey just gave him that lop sided grin before bluntly asking, “Wanna fuck?”

And damn it if seeing Mickey after so long didn’t do things to his dick. But it was more than that. Mickey wanted him. Mickey came back. They were so back on. Ian grinned and nodded, following Mickey under the bleachers, undoing his belt at the same time. Mickey was just as eager as Ian was if not more so. 

It wasn’t their longest fuck but it certainly wasn’t their shortest either. Ian had tried to fuck other guys after Mickey had gotten sent back to Juvie, assault on a police officer and not the murder of Frank, but it never went anywhere. He just couldn’t feel anything with any of the other boys, at least nothing at the level he was used to feeling. But Mickey. Well Mickey was a whole other kettle of fish. Ian always found himself losing focus on anything in the world that wasn’t Mickey. He got caught up in the feel of Mickey, the taste of him, even his smell. Everything narrowed and blurred until all he could focus on was this dirty boy and making him feel good like he was making Ian feel good. 

After, they pulled up their pants and Ian half expected Mickey to walk away. To act like this, whatever this was with Ian, had never happened. Again. But Mickey stuck around. He plopped down and pulled out a cigarette while making the comment, “Man that was good.” Ian couldn’t help but agree with a small smile. But it was always good with Mickey. Then Mickey continued, “Missed ya.”

“Ya did?” Ian couldn’t help but ask, hopeful as his grin grew. 

“Yeah man,” Mickey admitted, refusing to look at the tall red head. He took a drag from his smoke before handing it off to Ian. Ian just grinned like a little shit before taking a small drag of the cigarette. Maybe it wasn’t quite the apology he’d hoped for but it was enough because it was so totally Mickey. He’d take what he could get. You didn’t miss just a warm mouth. 

They moved away from any conversation resembling personal feelings after that, with Mickey asking if he’s old job at the store was available. Ian told him he’d see what he could do, but he was already plotting the best way to get Linda to agree to take Mickey back on. Shop lifting had been down considerably when Mickey had worked there, and had taken a spike with his recent incarnation. 

Still, it was nice just to sit and talk with Mickey. He’d missed this, missed him, missed them. With Mickey he didn’t have to bullshit or pretend to be anything that he wasn’t. So he let himself have this moment with the boy he suspected he just might be a little bit in love with, and lit another cigarette. 

88888888

When Ian got back home on the Northside he walked into see Jacob and Debbie playing video games on the couch. “Children,” Ian greeted, half-mocking, half-fondly, and kissed both of the kids’ heads. 

“Hey Ian,” the both chorused, and then Debbie was on her feet, yelling in victory, “And that is how you win! Suck it!”

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be at the pool?” Ian asked, as he got an orange juice from the fridge.

“We’ll go later,” Debbie replied, “Fiona once again expressed her fears about my development due to the fact that I don’t have friends my own age. So here I am, hanging out with my friend.”

“I’m pretty sure Fiona didn’t mean Jacob,” Ian replied with a small laugh.

“Why? Don’t I count?” Jacob asked, half turning from his position on the couch to look at Ian.

“You’re family, it’s different,” was Ian’s response. 

“No it’s not,” Debbie interjected, “I like Jacob, Jacob likes me, hence we’re friends. Simple as that.”

“Oh simple as that is it?” Ian asked without expecting a real answer.

“Hey Ian, why are you in such a good mood suddenly?” Jacob asked suddenly, shifting the point of conversation.

“What do you mean buddy?” Ian took another swig of orange juice.

“I mean you’ve been down for a while and now you’re back to your…” He trailed off for a moment, before asking sharply, “Is Mickey back?”

“He got out of Juvie today, yeah,” Ian replied, not really looking at his brother anymore.

“Mickey Milkovich?” Debbie asked and Jacob nodded his assent. 

“And did you see him?” came the prodding, persistent inquiry from the short red headed boy.

“Yes, all right. We talked and it’s fine,” Ian sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Just like that?” Jacob questioned with skepticism laced through every word, “After everything he did, after all of that shit, he say’s sorry and everything’s fine? That’s bullshit Ian.”

“Look, people fight all of the time and then they make up. It’s how relationships work,” Ian replied, a bit taken aback that he was having to defend himself to his little brother.

“Come on Debbie, let’s go,” Jacob said, shaking his head at Ian.

Debbie was by the front door and Jacob turned around to look up at his brother. His expression, normally one of joy and laughter, was serious and hard. “If he hurts you again like he did before,” Jacob spoke quietly and with purpose, “I will kill him.” 

Ian nodded his head, not in agreement, but out of respect for Jacob’s desire to protect his family. Family came first after all, it was a Gallagher trait.


	10. The Tenth Run

Ian is still sixteen but only just and he wishes he could make his brother smile. It’s Jacob’s birthday and not one of his so called friends can attend. Johnny’s on vacation with his family, Will is at camp and Travis is supposedly sick with the flu but Ian suspects his parents are dragging him to divorce court again. 

Jacob had been a pretty good sport about the whole thing but he was fifteen and he deserved to have some fun. And a family dinner followed by presents wasn’t exactly an evening of wild entertainment. So Ian was kidnapping him. Well, it wasn’t really kidnapping considering Jacob went along willingly even though he didn’t have a clue what was going on. He was getting out of the house so it was good enough for him. 

When they ended up at a sketchy looking building in the middle of the Southside it was then that Jacob began to get a bit nervous. Generally he was pretty okay on this side of town, people knew who he belonged to and they generally didn’t try shit with him. Except for a few times when one of the Gallaghers or Mickey or Mandy or Kev or Vee had to bail him out from getting his ass handed to him and his wallet stolen. Still, he was usually only over here during the day light hours and usually in areas where people actually lived. This building was definitely not in use currently and there was no one else around, not even a homeless guy going through the garbage. 

“Where are we?” Jacob asked, hating how his voice cracked a bit.

“You’ll see,” Ian grinned, looking far too comfortable in such a dangerous area. 

Then out the alleyway a figure approached them, the shadows hiding his face but as soon as he opened his mouth he knew who it was. “Well if it isn’t Firecrotch and fire nut.” Mickey Milkovich. Of course it had to be him. 

“Mom’s gonna kill us,” was all Jacob said as he turned to face Ian. It didn’t matter what was going on, with the Milkovich clan it was almost always something illegal, and they were all screwed if they got caught.

“She’ll only freak if you tell her, so don’t tell her,” was Ian’s reply before walking over to Mickey and giving him a friendly shove. Mickey gave some snarky comment in reply and Jacob was positive that he would never understand their relationship.

“So how’d you even score this?” Ian asked as Mickey brought out a ring of rusting keys and began using them on the various locks on the backdoor.

“My uncle. He still owes me for a run I did for him awhile back so I said I’d reduce the interest if he helped me out,” Mickey replied, finally jimming the door open. “All right shitheads, get a move on.” 

They all walked into a pitch dark building, Ian holding onto Mickey’s shoulder and Jacob clutching Ian’s hand as he tried not to panic. They walked down what seemed like a short hallway before coming to another door. This one didn’t have any locks and without any pomp Mickey kicked it open. Then all Jacob could see was a large flash of light and hear several voices yelling “Surprise!”

It was the entire Gallagher clan sans Frank, along with Kev and Vee and Mandy, standing in the center of what appeared to be an abandoned roller rink holding a birthday cake and various birthday paraphernalia. Some generators gave the place light and Jacob resisted the urge to cry as everyone gave him a hug, or a kiss, or a punch on the arm, all followed by a fond wish of “Happy Birthday.”

After everyone had gotten slice of cake or a scoop of ice cream they broke into the old storage closet and found roller skates for everyone to use while Mickey produced a stolen stereo to blast some music. As Jacob was lacing up his skates Ian came down and sat down next to him. “Hey buddy, I got you something,” Ian said with a grin and he handed over a small present.

“Thanks,” as Jacob began to unwrap it Ian spoke up again, “I know this year hasn’t been your best what with school and your friends being well…But I think you’ve handled it remarkably well, so here’s my present and the hope that this year will be a bit better than the last.”

When Jacob finally saw what his present was he didn’t even try to hide his tears or his grin. “An original Babe Ruth baseball card!?! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! How did you even get this?” 

“Probably best if you don’t know that. You just need to know that is as legit as it comes,” Ian said with a grin, his eyes soft as he looked at his brother. 

Jacob threw himself onto Ian, giving him the biggest hug he could manage. “Thank-you Ian,” Jacob whispered, “for everything.” Ian patted his back and then sent him off to skate on the rink. 

After a time of skating in circles, chasing Debbie and avoiding getting knee tackled by Carl, Jacob skated over to where Mickey was sitting, drinking a beer. 

“Birthday boy,” Mickey acknowledged as Jacob hopped up to sit on the barrier railing, and offered him a beer. Jacob just shook his head as he caught his breath. 

The red headed boy just look over the rink, watching the people who had shaped him in ways he hadn’t thought possible, who could drag him back to earth while making him feel like a giant, and he was thankful. He watched Ian skate-dance with Liam and Carl and he couldn’t help but grin at how big of a goof his big brother was. 

“He’s too good for you, you know that right?” Jacob asked, not even looking at Mickey. He could feel the older boy go still.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” was the answer.

Jacob just snorted. “Mickey, Mom and Dad refer to you in conversation as “the boyfriend” and I know one of them caught you guys fucking. Don’t try and bullshit me, not on this, it won’t work.”

Mickey just took a drink of beer and didn’t respond. 

“Look, Ian’s my brother. My only brother. So he may have other siblings but he’s all I got and I’ve got to look out for him. Because sometimes he is the dumbest shit I have ever met. Like in regards to you. He’s gonna stick around as long as you let him and that’s his choice. But I’m warning you right now, if you ever hurt my brother again I will make your life a living hell,” Jacob concluded his tone coached so that if anyone were to pass by they would think the conversation was a friendly one. If they weren’t listening to his words. 

“You’ve got guts Gallagher, I’ll give you that,” Mickey replied, his tone just as easy going, “But if you ever talk to me like that again I will beat the ever living shit out of you. I don’t care whose brother you are.” 

“Right,” Jacob snorted again, knowing that would never happen. If Mickey touched him then that would be the end of his and Ian’s relationship. 

Just then Ian caught Jacob’s eye and grinned as he hoisted a giggling Liam in the air while Carl skated around them. Jacob waved before turning to glance at Mickey. His expression was softer then it normally was and his eyes screamed words he would never say. 

“Thanks for your help with the party,” Jacob said, as he hopped off the barrier and skated back over to Debbie. He grabbed her and they proceeded to try and waltz in skates.

Ian skated over to Mickey a little bit later, having deposited Liam with Fiona and left Carl with another slice of cake. “What where you and Jake talking about?” Ian asked with such an unassuming grin Mickey didn’t know whether to punch him or kiss him. 

“He was just talking shit,” Mickey said, shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes. After a few moments he gestured for Ian to follow him past the sound booth and into one of the small dark hallways, and of course Ian followed because he was the only one who trusted Mickey wouldn’t jump him. 

Mickey turned and could make out Ian’s face, the shadows elongating the darkness around his eyes and turning his hair brown instead of red. They stood in the darkness for a few minutes, just staring at one another, Ian with a small smile on his face and Mickey anxiously chewing his bottom lip.

Then Mickey surged and kissed Ian. It was short, not even thirty seconds, but it left Ian dazed as Mickey walked off with a grin and a casual middle finger thrown in Ian’s direction. Ian just stared at Mickey’s retreating figure, a grin crawling onto his dazed face and he let out a little laugh. Had that really happened? It really had. 

With a mental victory pat on the back Ian returned to the party, not caring about the dopey expression he was wearing. Jacob just took one look at him, rolled his eyes and returned to playing roller tag with Carl, Debbie and Lip while Mandy played with Liam. It was his birthday after all.


	11. The Eleventh Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some slurs are used in this chapter.

Ian is seventeen and he is sleeping. It’s not an unusual thing, a teenage boy sleeping in on the weekend after a long week at school, but he’s not alone. Mickey’s sleeping with him, his head shoved into the pillow and his limbs askew as he faces the wall. Ian’s wrapped around Mickey, his head snuggled into the other boy’s neck while his front is shoved firmly against the older boy’s back. Their breathing is matched and even, while the sun attempts to get in under the blinds.

Everything is calm and peaceful…until one of Jacob’s friends bursts into Ian’s room at 7am on a Saturday. Travis is laughing in a near maniacal way as he slams the door shut and the yells of the other boy Jacob had invited for a sleepover can be heard down the hallway. Ian was supposedly in charge while his parents were out of town for the weekend on some business trip. Surprisingly it isn’t until Jacob forced the door open a minute later with his friend Will that Ian begins to wake up.

“You better be dying or the house is on fire,” Ian spoke from the bed, refusing to open his eyes and moving closer to Mickey.

“Holy shit Jake,” Travis exclaimed, looking over at the bed for the first time and noticing it wasn’t solely occupied, “Your brother’s a fag.”

“Shut up Travis,” Jacob snarls, launching himself at the other boy. Will looks unsure of which side to choose. Meanwhile, Travis and Jacob seem determined to beat each other into submission.

“Your brother’s nothing but a fucking faggot. An AIDS monkey,” Travis is shouting and Ian is now up and moving to rip the boys off each other. He kicks Mickey awake as well because he figures he could use some intimidation factor at some point and why should Mickey get to sleep in when he has to deal with an early morning brawl.

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Jacob is screaming and trying to escape the grip Ian now has on him. Mickey’s up as well, his boxers hanging dangerously low on his hips as he puts the Travis kid in a headlock. 

“I’d like to see you try,” the other boy yells from his immobile position.

“Both of you shut the fuck up,” Mickey yelled, his unfamiliar voice and presence causing the younger boys to calm down. “Jesus Christ you shits are annoying.” 

“Thanks Mick,” Ian spoke up and then sighed. “Jake, why don’t you take Will downstairs and make some pancakes or something. I think I need to have a little chat with Travis here.”

“But,” Jacob tried to protest but Ian just shook his head and pointedly looked at the cowering Will. Jacob sighed and said, “Come on Will, let’s go get some breakfast.”

Once the two younger boys had left Ian turned to Travis and said, “Now Mickey here is going to let you out of that headlock but if you try to run or try to start another fight I will not hesitate to kick your ass. And once I’m done I’ll let Mickey have a go. And trust me you do not want to see what he can do to a pretty face like yours.”

The blond haired boy paled and his smirk quickly disappeared whereas Mickey just cracked his knuckles and grinned in the face of such fear. 

“Now Mickey and me, we don’t give a shit what you think about us. I mean, you’re a fifteen year old kid who still wakes the willy to pictures of his big sister.”

“Sick fuck,” Mickey couldn’t help but comment, looking at the boy with contempt.

“But understand that if you say anything, to anyone, about what you saw we will hunt you down and…Well, I’ll just leave it to your imagination what we’ll do,” Ian grinned in a way that showed he was still Southside after all. “Do we have an understanding?” Ian asked. When the younger boy nodded, his legs now visibly shaking, Ian reached up and patted him on the cheek before turning to Mickey and asked, “Want breakfast?”

“Only if you’re making coffee,” the black haired boy replied, ignoring Travis’s presence completely. 

“Like I’m going to survive seven in the morning without coffee,” Ian rolled his eyes before turning and opening up his bedroom door. He kicked Travis in the butt to get him moving out of his room before heading down the stairs with Mickey.

In the kitchen, Will was digging into some blueberry pancakes Jacob had made while Jacob nursed a glass of orange juice. Ian went over to his brother and gave him a kiss on the top of his head, letting him know everything was all right. When he felt Jacob relax slightly he went over to the coffee pot and began preparing the morning drink of choice. 

“Mickey,” Jacob spoke up as the black haired boy went about getting down some coffee mugs from the cabinets, “I made some chocolate chip pancakes for you and Ian. I put them in the microwave to keep warm.”

Mickey nodded his thanks while Ian actually voiced it. A few minutes later, after the coffee was brewed and Ian and Mickey were sitting at the kitchen island counter digging into their pancakes, Travis walked into the kitchen completely dressed and packed.

“Can I have a pancake?” he asked, his bravado ringing false in everyone’s ears.

“Bigots don’t get breakfast,” Jacob replied, his gaze turning to the skinny blond haired boy. “And don’t worry Travis, I already called your mom and informed her that you were needing an emergency pick up. I explained how your intolerance would not be tolerated in this house and she sounded very interested in hearing how her son was behaving like the elitist prick he is. ‘Just like his father’ I believe the exact words were.” Each word Jacob spoke seemed to be driving a metaphorical knife deeper into the other boy’s chest and his expression became twisted. Jacob just grinned, but his eyes were cold and hard as he attacked the boy verbally. “Although I guess I should be impressed that you’ve managed to emulate a man who neglected you and didn’t want anything to do with you in the first place. Must have known you were gonna turn out to be an asshole. It’s probably why he went and got a whole new family.”

There was silence in the kitchen for about a minute that was only broken up by chewing or the drinking of coffee. Then Mickey spoke up, “Damn fire nut, remind me not to piss you off.” It was probably the nicest compliment Jacob had ever received from Mickey.

Travis didn’t have a chance to respond as his cell-phone rang letting him know his mother was outside. He didn’t say a word as he angrily stomped to the door but Jacob wasn’t done yet. He called out, “Oh and Travis, in-case it wasn’t clear, don’t even bother trying to sit with us, or talk with us or even breathe near us.”

Travis just slammed the door in response. “Fuckin’ pussy,” Mickey muttered as he stole a pancake off of Ian’s plate. 

“Bit harsh there,” Ian said to Jacob, but his tone held no hint of condemnation. 

“Prick deserved it. He’s been doing shit for nearly a year now, this was just the final straw,” Jacob responded, snagging Ian’s coffee mug from him and taking a big gulp.

“What about you Will?” Ian asked with a grin, “You scared of a few fags?”

Will finally looked up from his stack of pancakes, his glasses slipping further down his nose and his brown hair sticking out every which way. “I have two Dads,” was all he said. 

“Well all right then,” Ian replied, snagging back his coffee mug and cuffing his little brother on the back of the head. “What are you kids doing today?”

Will and Jacob looked at each other for a moment, Will seemed hesitant but Jacob got a shit eating grin on his face and replied, “Will’s gonna find a date for the Winter Formal.”

“If I have to listen to this crap I’m gonna need more coffee,” Mickey muttered, getting up to fix himself another cup. Without a word, Ian handed his cup over to the bedraggled boy before turning to stare at the blushing boy with glasses. 

“Well this ought to be good,” Ian muttered to himself. And he was struck with a distinct longing for his bed and, glancing at Mickey, his bed partner. Well, Ian consoled himself, there was always next weekend.


	12. The Twelfth Run

Ian is seventeen and debating the merits of strangling Lip. His eldest brother is currently sitting at the Gallagher’s Northside dining room table, various study material spread out between him and Ian, and he will not stop talking about Karen. She’s back apparently, and making Mandy feel threatened, but Lip will always be attracted to beautiful messes, attempting to fix or solve them, so he can’t just let the blond girl go. 

“I mean, she must have come back for a reason,” Lip says, again, for the fifth time in an hour. 

“She probably wanted to see her Mom, like I said before. Now, help me with this theorem,” Ian said, shoving his textbook and notebook over to Lip.

Lip quickly glanced at it and comments, “You inversed the A and the B halfway through, and miscalculated the vertex.”

“Ah shit,” Ian mutters to himself as he restarts the entire problem over again. 

“Language Ian,” Lucy reminds on reflex now, not even pausing in her journey from the laundry room to the bedrooms. 

Lip just stares at Ian for a moment before continuing, “I mean, Chody’s still there but I’m pretty sure he’s screwing Shelia.”

“Lip,” Ian says, putting down his pencil and looking up from his books, “You’re my brother and I love you but sometimes you’re stupid. Like with this whole Karen thing. Let it go man. Concentrate on getting into MIT or Harvard or something and stop making Mandy worried. Because if you hurt her, brother or not, I will kick your ass.”

“Language Ian,” Lucy said again as she came back down the stairs sans laundry. 

Ian rolled his eyes, “I’ll put a dollar in the jar later Mom.” 

“I’m not going to college,” Lip replied.

“And why not?” Lucy demanded, turning from her task of putting away Jacob’s video game controllers.

“There’s no point Lucy, but thank you for your concern,” Lip replied, clamming up at the woman who dared claim his brother as her son. 

“No point?” She asked in disbelief as she her short brown hair behind her ears in agitation, “Now you listen here mister, you may be smart but you are giving a very good impersonation of someone who is stupid. You have the chance, the opportunity, to go anywhere you want on a full ride. You could go to Harvard or Yale, figure out new ways to scam those rich kids you tutored. Or, if you wanted to stay in Chicago, you could go to North Western or the University of Chicago. I don’t care where you go as long as you take advantage of this gift you’ve been given. Don’t throw a chance at a better life away. You like to take advantage of people, well just think of going to college as you beating the whole system and become a big fat success.”

Ian just watched his Mom with a look of mild awe and trepidation on his face. He could see Lip resisting the urge to throw something and then walk out. With a controlled and measured voice Lip merely said, “Well thank you for your opinion Aunt Lucy.” 

But Lucy had gone to enough PTA meetings and sponsored enough club events to know a barb wrapped in silk when she heard one. She gave a tight grin and was about to respond when Jacob came storming into the house, throwing his backpack to the ground and collapsing into an irate pile in the chair next to Ian saying, “You think Mickey would kill someone if I paid him?”

“Jacob,” Lucy gasped in shock.

“Depends on who he’d be killing. If you want it to be a sure thing though I’d ask one of his brothers. I think Joey’s back from prison this week,” Ian replied, completely non-chalant about the exchange. 

“Ian,” Lucy warned as she saw her younger son seriously seemed to be considering hiring a hit man. “Boys, I’m going to go and talk with Ms. Pensitolie about her flower bush. I’ll be right next door and when I come back I expect you all to have behaved like rational adults. The means Jacob, no murder. Ian, no helping your brother plan murder. And Lip, apply to college.” With a deep breathe exhaled through her nose Lucy marched out of the living room, down the front hall and out the door. 

“So who’re we killing?” Lip asked as soon as the door closed. 

“Boy at school,” Jacob muttered, burying his head in his arms.

“Who? Travis? I thought you said he wasn’t giving you any problems.,” Ian asked, his expression becoming concerned as he went through a mental list of Jacob’s past tormentors. “Is it that Duncan kid you were telling me about? Cause you know I’ll kick his ass. Just say the word.”

“No,” Jacob sounded both surely and exasperated, “It’s not Travis or Duncan. Kid’s name is Nathan Malloy.” 

“Wait a minute,” Ian said slowly, realization dawning on him, “isn’t that your crushes’ boyfriend or something?”

“Shut up,” Jacob growled out as he buried his head in his arms.

“Aww little Jakey boy’s got a wittle crush,” Lip teased, “And here we were all thinking you’d just end up marrying Debbie.” 

“Fuck off Lip,” Jacob mumbled. 

“Jake, we’ve talked about this. You either have to tell her how you feel or you have to move on. Pick a course of action and stick with it,” Ian sighed, rolling his eyes at his little brother.

“You’re gay and you’re in a relationship, you don’t get it,” Jacob whined, his wide brown eyes looked up at Ian in a version of kicked-but-hopeful-puppy and his red hair, longer then Ian’s, was ruffled. He looked ten years old and Ian was tempted to just give him a popsicle and some porn.

“Fine, talk to Lip. He’s straight and on his way to becoming single,” Ian replied with a heavy dose of sarcasm, turning back to his math homework. 

“Shut up G. I. Jane,” Lip replied, before turning his attention to Jacob, “At least Jake here has normal tastes. You’re fucking Mickey.”

“You’re dating his sister,” Ian exclaimed in disbelief, laughing a bit as the ridiculousness of this conversation. 

“As I was saying,” Lip continued as if Ian hadn’t spoken, “if you like a girl you got to let her know. If she doesn’t actually know how you feel then you can’t blame her if she never responds to you. Someone’s got to be the one to make the first move so it might as well be you.” 

Ian resisted the urge to comment on the irony of Lip being the one to say that and focused on trying to salvage his math problem.

“But she dating a douchbag,” Jacob explained.

“Dating isn’t married,” Lip proclaimed and Ian rolled his eyes.

“Jake, people date assholes all the time. That doesn’t give you the right to try and break them up. Or to murder their partner,” Ian said, skimming over the original math problem he had been stuck on for a good twenty minutes. 

“Don’t listen to him Jake,” Lip interjected, “Although I agree that murder isn’t the best way. The only thing worse than a girl with a boyfriend is a girl with a dead boyfriend. Too many emotional issues. If you really need this guy taken care of we’ll plant some evidence and get him sent to juvie. Easy peasy mac and cheesy.”

“Hmm,” Jacob seemed to be considering it, biting his lip anxiously, before turning to Ian and asking, “Do you think Mickey would give me a discount on a beat down?”

“I am not aiding in your delinquency. Just talk to the girl Jake,” Ian replied, shaking his head. 

Before Jacob could respond the front door was thrown open and then slammed shut by one very irate Lucy Gallagher. Her normally composed appearance was shaken and she looked like she had just been through a whirlwind. 

“That bitch!” she yelled.

All at once the three boys spoke, “Language.”

She just shot them a look that indicated she was not amused. “Ian,” Lucy spoke, her voice tight and controlled but with an underlying current of anger, “I want you to get that boy you’ve been seeing to light that hideous woman’s rosebush on fire. Tell him I will pay him double his asking price.” The she stomped up the stairs to her bedroom leaving the boys in various states of shock.

Jacob just turned to Ian and asked, “Think Mickey’ll give us a group discount?” 

888888888

In the end Jacob didn’t get his desired beat down but a lesson in romancing the ladies from Kev and some porn from Lip. Lucy, however, was about to get her wish.

“I cannot believe your Mom is paying me to commit arson. Your family is seriously fucked up man,” Mickey noted as he doused the obnoxiously large plant in gasoline. 

“Like you’re one to talk,” Ian whispered back. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“And she’s providing an alibi,” Mickey continued in amazement. Hearing Ian’s sigh Mickey just grinned and asked, “Want to do the honors?” He held out a book of matches. 

“I’m good. Destroying plant life doesn’t really do it for me,” Ian replied, keeping look out.

“Suit yourself,” the dark haired boy said, striking a match. He held it in the air for a moment, just looking at this little flame that had no idea what destruction it would cause and then, with a grin, he tossed it on the dripping bush. 

Fwoosh. It was like a bonfire, all wild and untamed but confined to its fuel source. Ian and Mickey took a moment to admire their handy work before taking off in a sprint towards Ian’s house. They were fighting to hold back their laughter which just made their mirth that much more persistent as they tried to side tackle each other in this pseudo race. By the time they got to the backdoor where Lucy was waiting for them they were simultaneously breathless and giggly. 

Once in the house they disposed of the evidence in a garbage bag hidden in the basement, and changed into their sleep clothes and joined the rest of the family in the living room where they were watching Back to the Future. They sat on the couch for a total of maybe five minutes before the sirens started sounding. It took another half hour before there came an official sounding knock at the door. Lucy was the one to answer it. 

By that time Jacob had passed out in his chair and Ian picked him up and was caring him to the stairs when Lucy called to him softly, “Ian, once you put your brother to bed will you please come back down? This nice officer just wants to ask you a few questions.”

When Ian answered he made sure to add as much earnest good ol’ boy into his tone because he knew what type of scene he presented. Since Jacob could still pass for twelve he appeared that much younger asleep and being carried in his brothers arms. A teenage brother who was willing to carry his sleeping little brother up the stairs and tuck him into bed on a weekend. It didn’t exactly scream delinquent. “Sure thing Mom,” Ian faked whispered, before turning and heading up the stairs. 

By the time Ian came back down, Clayton, Lucy and Mickey were all in the kitchen being interrogated by the cop. Mickey was for the most part, thankfully, keeping quiet. 

“And where were you at 11:30 this evening?” the officer, Officer Smith, asked. He was a larger black man with a voice that was used to intimidating criminals and soothing witnesses. 

“Well we were all here,” Clayton answered, “We saw that there was a Back to the Future marathon on the movie channel and we all decided to make an evening of it. My boys love those movies, although I suppose it was past Jacob’s bed time.”

Ian and Lucy smiled but said nothing.

“Yes, I noticed. How many children do you have Mr. Gallagher?” Officer Smith asked.

“Just the two: Ian and Jacob,” Clayton replied.

“And what about you?” Officer Smith asked, looking Mickey over. His eyes lingered on the FUCK U-UP tattoos and the fading bruise on his left shoulder that was about the size of a fist. “Are you a Gallagher?”

“Nope,” was Mickey’s reply, cocky even as he avoided looking at the policeman straight on. 

Ian could see the cop growing more and more suspicious so Ian pulled a card that he knew Mickey would give him shit for later. “He’s my boyfriend,” Ian announced, crossing his arms in-front of his chest, looking straight into the cop’s eyes with a challenge, daring him to comment on it. 

The officer just raised an eyebrow but stopped his line of questioning. “Well if you remember seeing anything suspicious or have any idea about who might have caused the arson, please give me a call.”

Lucy took the offered business card saying, “We most certainly will. I just feel so terrible. Ms. Pensitolie loved those roses almost as much as her own children. Who could do such a thing? Should we be worried?”

“So far it seems to be a random, isolated incident. You most likely have nothing to be worried about but just be aware for the next couple of days to see if you notice anything out of the ordinary like paint cans where there shouldn’t be or any other flammable substances. That sort of thing.” Officer Smith put away his notebook and opened the door.

“Thank-you so much Officer, I just wish we could have been more help,” Lucy continued even as she ushered the man out of the house.

“You’ve done plenty. Thank-you for your and your families’ cooperation especially so late in the evening. Have a good night ma’am.” And with that the police left the Gallagher home and Lucy shut the door, managing to hold back her victory smile until the door was firmly latched behind her. 

“Damn ma,” Mickey breathed out in admiration, “you played that cop like a pro.”

“Thank you Mickey,” Lucy said, returning to her full Suburban mom mode as if she hadn’t just gotten away with the ordered destruction by fire of her neighbor’s rosebush. “Now who wants hot coco?” 

All right, Ian conceded to himself as he accepted a cup of coco from his Mom and a jab in the kidney from Mickey, maybe his family was little bit fucked up.


	13. The Thirteenth Run

Ian is seventeen and resisting the urge to burst into laughter. And it wouldn’t just be one lone laugh that could easily be forgotten. Oh no, this was a laugh with layers because of how many different things there were to laugh at. First, there was the fact that Jacob was in the school play, a lead even, for reasons still undisclosed to Ian. Then there was the fact that the whole family was here on opening night to see the littlest red head boy take to the stage. That’s right, the whole family including Southside trash and their various friends and significant others. And then, if that wasn’t good enough, everyone around them was giving them looks but trying to act polite and not at all nervous about the street rif-raf in the auditorium. Mickey wasn’t helping the situation either considering he would poke Ian in his side, right in his ticklish spot, when he thought Ian wasn’t looking. 

Ian was about to punch him if he didn’t stop but before he could do so Debbie leaned over from her seat behind him and wrapped her arms around Ian’s shoulders. “Thanks for inviting us,” she said softly, her red curls blending into Ian’s shorn locks. 

“No problem Debs,” Ian replied, patting her arm gently.

“You know you’re really brave Ian,” Debbie sighs into her brother’s ear, speaking so that only he can hear, “I know what this must look like to the rest of these people, what they think about us, but you don’t care about that. Because you are us and you aren’t afraid to admit you’re part of us. That takes a lot of guts on this side of town.”

Ian gripped Debbie’s hand tightly for a moment before saying, just as quietly, “I’m not ashamed of my family Debs. You’re the ones who matter.” There was so much more he wanted to say, about how he felt more at home dodging loan sharks on the Southside then attending Boy Scouts on the Northside. Felt safer. How Aunt Gina’s pasta would never taste as good as Fiona’s because Fiona cooked hers with love. How he felt proud of Carl for protecting his family, of Debbie for trying her best and Fiona for still making it somehow after all these years. How all he wanted to do was kiss Mickey in public without worrying someone would come after one of them with a bat or a gun. How he missed being able to hug each of siblings good night. He wanted to say all of those things but the words got stuck in his throat.

Debbie gave a noise of assent, tightening her grip on Ian, the sequences on her dress digging into his neck causing an itch. “Do you think Jake will be happy we came?”

“Of course. You’re his best friend,” Ian assured her, and he could all but feel Mickey’s eye roll. 

“I thought you said family couldn’t be friends,” Debbie reminded him.

“Well maybe I changed my mind. You ever think of that Miss Smarty Pants,” Ian laughed as he reached up and tickled Debbie around her neck before she pulled away with a giggling shriek. He could feel the rest of the auditorium giving them disapproving looks at this large group of strangers who dare laugh and enjoy life. Well, too bad. Fiona managed to snag the lighter Carl had somehow gotten his hands on right before the curtains came up so at least there wouldn’t be any fires for the first act.

Ian settled into his seat full prepared to be less than amazed by the acting chops of his school, but he found he was having trouble focusing on the stage. Mickey’s arm was pressed against his on the arm rest and Ian could feel the heat radiating off of the dark haired boy. His flesh pushed up against Ian’s, each refusing to shift or move an inch away from each other. To the casual observer it would look like a pissing contest between two teenage boys over who would get the armrest. The casual observer knew jackshit. This was their version of handholding. 

During intermission Ian made some excuse about needing a less crowded place to pee before dragging Mickey to the lockers of the far side of the school for a quickie. It helped that Mickey was always down for a fuck, and the fact that they were doing it in such a prissy institution really seemed to get him going. Mickey got off on pissing on authority, Ian got off on pseudo hand holding. Who cared why they were fucking as long as they were. 

They made it back just in time for the second act and Ian elected to ignore the pointed looks Lucy was giving his tousled clothes and Mickey’s sex hair. Clayton was pointedly not looking at his son and said son’s boyfriend’s post sex look. Ian didn’t even try and repress his grin. Mickey was much more relaxed as he sat back down, slumping instead of sitting on edge. He even cracked a grin as one of the students nearly fell off the stage. 

At curtain call, when it was Jacob’s turn to be presented, the entire Gallagher Clan and Co. were on their feet screaming and cheering, demanding an encore and thoroughly embarrassing the fifteen year old to the point that his face began to match his hair color. That, of course, elicited several “awws” from the crowd which only served to deepen the young boy’s blush. But he grinned as well.

After the play, once Jacob had gotten out of costume and washed off the greasepaint, a majority of the group ended up down at a waffle house that had probably seen better days. Lucy and Clayton begged off, stating that they had an early day tomorrow and needed their rest, but they left a credit card with Ian to pay for the celebration excursion. Kev and Vee ended up heading back as well, their schedules for the next few days making it difficult for their sex life so they wanted to get in what they could now. So that left the Gallagher kids, and two Milkoviches to terrorize the local waffle house staff. 

Carl was attempting to eat a face into his pancake, Liam had fallen asleep in his stroller, Debbie was praising Jacob’s performance while she ate her stuffed French toast, Jacob was blushing terribly and stuffing his face full of grits and gravy, Lip and Mandy were exchanging pancakes, while Fiona was telling a story about her new job in-between bites of sausage. Ian laughed at the story as he ate his waffles and attempted to steal a piece of Mickey’s bacon.

Mickey was always a bit on edge in large groups like this, especially when only a select few people knew the entire story. Actually, no one really knew the entire story except Ian and Mickey but Jacob and Lip knew quite a bit. Mandy and Fiona knew Ian was gay but they didn’t know who it was he was seeing, they just thought he had a weird friendship with Mickey. And the dark haired boy did not want anyone finding out, so he was extra vigilant in crowds where he was convinced some small thing would give him away. As if, if he acted too friendly with Ian a large sign would descend for the heavens and proclaim to all the world that Mickey Milkovich liked a dick up the ass. But he'd relaxed more so in other people's company then he'd done so before so Ian guessed they were making progress. 

“Now I know you did not just try and steal my bacon,” Mickey said, turning in his chair to face Ian.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ian said with a grin, his mouth stuffed with said piece of bacon.

“You’re a shit liar, I hope you know that,” Mickey replied, stabbing one of Ian’s sausages for himself. 

“Mmmm, bacon,” Ian hummed, with a grin distorted by a mouth full of food. 

Mickey just looked at Ian for a moment and then reached over and gave his nipple a quick twist.

“Ow! Jesus, Mickey. What was that for?” Ian whined, slapping away the offending hand.

“Don’t even try that wounded Bambi shit. You know what that was for,” Mickey replied, shoveling another bite of egg and pancake into his mouth. 

“Are they always like this?” Fiona leaned over and asked Jacob.

“Worse, usually,” he answered without a second thought. 

“You should see them play Call of Duty,” Mandy interjected, “Half the time they just end up fighting to determine the winner.” 

“One time Dad came home and he thought there was home intruder from the noise. It turned out to just be Mickey holding Ian in a headlock,” Jacob said with a grin. 

“Did Daddy call the police?” Lip asked with a grin but there was a bite of snark underneath his words.

“Of course not,” Ian replied, “Dad’s still got enough Southside in him to fear the police. Mom on the other hand…”

“Are you kidding?” Mickey joined in, “Lucy got more balls then your dad. She’s the one who’ll commit the crime then call the police to report and then pin it on some sorry sack of shit.”

“Sounds like my kind of lady,” Mandy mused.

“To be fair it’s not that hard to have more balls then Clayton,” Lip said aloud.

“Shut up,” Jacob directed to Lip.

“Nice alliteration there Mickey,” Ian commented.

“Don’t start with those English terms Gallagher,” Mickey volleyed back. 

“So Jacob, why did you end up doing the school play?” Fiona asked, breaking up some of the minor tension build up.

“I lost a bet,” was all he said.

Everyone just turned to look at him and the table got real quiet. Jacob ignored them all as he continued to eat.

“You wanna expand on that?” Debbie finally asked on behalf of everyone.

“Not really,” Jacob answered, his tone and expression conveying that the topic was closed.

“Bet it has to do with that girl who keeps rejecting your ass,” Mickey guessed.

“It was one time,” Jacob defended, his voice louder then it needed to be. “I asked her out once. She said no. That was it. End of discussion.”

“Ah young love, it makes you stupid things. Like take a bet that involves the school play,” Lip teased.

“You are all assholes,” Jacob grumbled, slouching down in his chair. 

“Hey,” Debbie and Fiona both protested.

“Not you guys,” he quickly amended. “Just these three stooges.” Gesturing to Ian, Mickey, and Lip. They all plastered pseudo-innocent expressions on their face, or at least attempted to. It wasn’t long before the whole table broke down in laughter. 

Maybe they weren’t a normal family but they sure were the best family he had, Ian thought to himself with a grin. He caught Jacob’s eye from across the table and in that moment he knew that his brother was thinking the exact same thing. And they couldn’t help but grin.


	14. The Fourteenth Run

Ian is seventeen and it’s going to be Christmas soon. He actually hates this time of year just a little bit because it always served to highlight how he was split down the middle between two families. He’d spend Christmas Eve and the early part of Christmas Day with his Northside family, which included a bitchy aunt and her obnoxious brood and a judgmental uncle who could stand to lose a few pounds. Christmas Day and the day after were reserved for the Southside and setting off illegal fireworks with Mickey. Clayton found out early on that if he didn’t let Ian have time on the other side of town Ian would find his own way, which was usually less than safe.

As he got older Ian began to understand more and more why suicide and homicide rates went up around the holidays. Which was why he had Mickey over currently, just to hang out, because he needed a dose of reality and a reminder that if Mickey could make it through the holiday season then so could Ian. They were sitting in Ian’s room, Mickey poking through Ian’s various bookshelves while Ian lounged on his bed with a comic he was only half-reading. Ian took a moment to admire how normal the scene was. The neighborhood had soon gotten used to “that Gallagher kid’s thug friend” being about and now Mickey came and went as he pleased, enjoying a bit of the lax in physical confrontation on certain issues. Namely his sexuality that he wouldn’t admit to even when he had a dick in his mouth. 

“What’s this?” Mickey asked, holding up a half-crumpled paper that had some red marks on it. He didn’t wait for Ian to respond as he read out loud. “The Half-Way Boy: A Personal Essay by Ian Gallagher.” Mickey looked up from the page as Ian tensed, “What is this crap?”

“It’s my college admissions essay. Just leave it, it’s crap anyway,” Ian explained, trying to sound as if he didn’t care but the tensing of his shoulders and his grip on the comic book gave him away.

“Crap huh,” Mickey mused, quickly scanning over some of the inked in comments, “I suppose that’s why it says “Very moving” and “One of the best essays I’ve read in years.” It must be a total piece of shit.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ian half-growled, throwing the comic book on the floor and looking up at his ceiling.

“You don’t have to talk about it, you wrote it in a god damn paper,” Mickey noted, giving the offending piece of paper a little shake in Ian’s direction. He then hopped on the desk, nearly knocking off a cup full of pens, and began to read it. 

Ian wanted to rip the damn paper out of Mickey’s hand but he didn’t. Instead he just laid back on his bed and looked up at his ceiling and tried to pretend he was stone. He used to do that sometimes when he was a kid and Frank would come after him, probably knowing that somehow, deep down, that he wasn’t his kid. Now he did it to stop himself from examining Mickey’s expression as he read through his personal statement. It was one thing to show it to strangers, it was an entirely different issue to have people he cared about reading it. 

The Half-Way Boy  
A Personal Statement by Ian Gallagher

When I was ten years old I found out that my father wasn’t my father but my uncle and that I would be moving in with my real father. To many people this would have been seen as a blessing, my Uncle Frank was and is an alcoholic who would occasionally beat me, we were poor, we struggled to survive on what my elder sister Fiona could make, and our bi-polar mother would abandon us every couple of months only to come crawling back. My real father, my biological father, lived and still lives on the Northside of Chicago, has one son, my little brother Jacob, has a good job with a stable home environment and never beats his wife or kid. He would seem like a God send to most kids who had just been placed in foster care for the tenth time. But he wasn’t, not to me, not at first. The reason was that by finding out that I was no longer who I had always thought I was I became a half-way boy.

A half-way boy is a term I made up. It means, “a boy who has found himself caught in-between two worlds, two lives, two families and he can never really choose between them.” I was raised as Southside trash for the first ten years of my life and for the last seven I have been a middle-class child of suburbia. In one family I am the third child and second son out of six, two girls and four boys, while in my new family I am the eldest son and brother to only one kid brother. On one hand, I am loved by my siblings because I have endured the same trials and tribulations as they have, while on the other hand I am a constant reminder of my parents’ affair. But like all half-way boys these are things I try not to think about too often, because once you start to think about them you can slip and fall to one side and no longer be a half-way boy.

Naturally, growing up with such conflicting views of where I supposedly belonged was difficult. One Saturday I would be at a ball game with Dad and Jacob and the next I would be helping my brother Lip out run some guy he had made irate by scamming him. Sometimes I would feel so torn up inside that I would imagine just running away to a whole new life, where no one knew who I was and I could start anew. But I never did. The reason was for the very same reason that I am a half-way boy; my family. They are the reason I try to better myself every day, that I recognize the bonds of community and why I know that love can ease any burden.

Now I can tell you not many people on the Northside are eager to be friends with the new kid from the Southside, and not many Southside people are willing to hang with the kid who just moved up in life due to an accident of genetics. But I do have two friends, a brother and sister, who have stuck by me through some of the most difficult times of my life. Mickey and Mandy are half-way kids too, but in a way that is different than me. They are caught in-between being the genuinely good-hearted and kind people I know them to be and finding the ability to survive in an increasingly hostile and cruel world. They remind me to look not just belonw the surface but to look around any given situation because what a person might originally think is the root cause could be completely different than the actual cause.

The Marines have a saying “Simpre Fieldas.” It means “Always Faithful.” I would like to think that as a half-way boy I know a thing or two about loyalty. My family, both my families, instead of turning me into some strange half-relation have given me more love and acceptance then I would have thought possible. My big sister Fiona once told me, and I will never forget this, that “just because I was leaving didn’t mean I didn’t belong. It just meant I belonged both places now.” Now that I’m older I don’t feel as much of the conflict I did as a child, although sometimes I will still have those moments where I feel off balance, but I’ve been able to pull my two halves together. Yet even as I grow older I sometimes need to remind myself of how far I’ve come. I am no longer the scared ten year old boy who was dragged away by Child Protective Services from the loving arms of his sister into the awaiting arms of his father, but sometimes I catch myself thinking about that scared young kid. And every time I do I just wish I could reach back, ruffled his hair and tell him, “You’ll catch your balance, you’ll see, my brave half-way boy.”

 

If Ian had been looking at Mickey he would have seem the dark haired boys eyes grow soft, see him swallow deeply as he read certain parts of the essay and lose any mocking thought he had. After a while Ian rolled to his side, looked at the silent boy and asked, “So what’d you think?”

Mickey looked up at him, “Honestly, this is good. Really good.”

“You mean it?” Ian asked, sitting up half-way.

“Yeah man,” Mickey nodded. He got up off the desk and set the essay on it, he smoothed down the paper for a moment, his inked up fingers lingering on the pages. He made an interesting picture, the thug boy with crass ink on his hands touching an essay with a semblance of reverence. Mickey swallowed for a minute, then marched over to Ian, grabbed the back of the red head’s neck and pulled him in to a kiss. A kiss that went on and expanded into another kiss and another until Mickey was lying on top of Ian, his mouth fused to the other boy’s. 

Then it became something more, they were tearing off each other’s clothes and Ian couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time they had done this, but this time they only stopped kissing to get their shirts off. Even though it took more time they didn’t stop kissing even as they removed their pants and underwear. Everything was rawer. It was pure emotion was what happening, the bodies were just a conduit for it. Whatever it was. Ian gave up trying to put it into words and just allowed himself to feel.

When it was over Mickey didn’t push Ian off of him or even make any attempt to move. Ian just lay on Mickey’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his lover’s heartbeat. If he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough he was almost sure he could make out the words “I love you” being thumped out. Ian could feel Mickey’s hand rubbing through his red hair, almost gently, like he was petting some lazy housecat. He was tempted to purr but he just smiled instead, enjoying the feeling of warmth and contentment he felt. 

“When do you find out?” Mickey asked after a time, his hand moving down to trace Ian’s spine, “When do you find out if you got in?”

“Hmm,” Ian mumbled, half-asleep, “In a couple of months. Depends on the school.”

Mickey didn’t say anything more and Ian thought nothing of it as he drifted off to sleep, Mickey’s warmth beneath him and a soothing hand on his back.


	15. The Fifteenth Run

Ian is seventeen and it’s New Year’s Eve. Mom and Dad are going to some fancy party with some friends which means they’re both dressed to the nines, Mom in a silk wrap and Dad in a full out tux. They’d headed off a while ago and Ian was supposed to be in the Southside but he realized half-way there he’d forgotten the fireworks he was supposed to bring so now he was heading back to a pick them up. Jacob was supposed to be at some friend’s sleep over or something, so that meant Ian could get in and out of the house without having to make excuses to any of Jacob’s friends. 

Except when he got home Ian noticed that Jacob’s shoes were still by the front door along with his overnight bag.

“Jake,” Ian called out, half-cautious as he took off his scarf and jacket. When he got no reply he called out again, “Jacob.” He went up the stairs and headed towards his brother’s slightly jarred door. Ian silently prayed that if Jacob had a girl in there that he was being smart about it, but his brotherly hopes did not outweigh his brotherly fears, so he slowly opened the door.

Jacob lay on his bed, half curled up into a ball, staring at nothing.

“Hey buddy, what’s wrong?” Ian asked softly, even as he moved into the room. “You not feel good?” And he placed his hand on the other boy’s forehead to check if there was a fever. A little warm but nothing to be concerned about. 

“Ian,” the younger boy whispered, not moving, “what’s wrong with me?”

There was a pause and then Ian asked in return, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t have any friends. Will moved, Travis’s an asshole, and Johnny hasn’t talked to me since Halloween. So what’s wrong with me? I try to be a good person, I do, but nothing ever seems to work.” The boy sounded so serious, so wounded, that Ian didn’t answer for a moment. Instead he laid down behind Jacob and wrapped his little brother in his arms.

“Jake, how many friends do I have?” Ian asked, as he shifted a bit to get comfortable.

“Mandy,” Jacob paused, “And Mickey.”

“Mickey’s my boyfriend, there’s a difference,” Ian replied. “So how many friends do I have Jake? Actual friends, not just acquaintances or study buddies.”

Jacob got quite then spoke as if he couldn’t quite believe the answer, “One.”

“That’s right,” Ian agreed, “What about Debbie? How many friends does she have? Or Carl or Lip? Fiona?”

Jacob’s silence was answer enough.

“Now I’m going to tell you something that I wish someone had told me but that I had to figure out on my own. We’re Gallaghers. And Gallaghers do not make friends easily. Not real ones anyway. You’d think we would considering how likeable of a bunch we are,” Ian grinned a bit at that but Jacob just continued to stare at the wall, “Look, we have a strong family, a loving family, which makes up for it at times. Sorry to say but you’re stuck with us for life. But there’s another thing about us Gallaghers. Once we make a friend, an honest to God real friend, we stick with ‘em and they stick with us till the ends of the earth. It’s just how it goes.”

There was a linger silence and then “It still sucks not having friends though,” Jake whispered and Ian realized his little brother was crying.

“Yeah,” Ian sighed, as he hugged his brother tighter, “I know.” And Ian just let Jacob cry it out. 

After a time Jacob’s cries became reduced to sniffles and into the silence he whispered, “Ian, I have to confess something. I didn’t join the play because of a bet. I did the play because I thought it would make me friends. Pretty stupid huh.”

“It’s only stupid if you didn’t have fun,” Ian replied, his voice equally as quiet, “Did you have fun?”

“A bit, yeah,” Jacob snuffled, then said, “I think I need a tissue.”

Ian got up and got one out of the box of Kleenex that was on Jacob’s dresser. While Jake sat up and blown his nose Ian noted, “I thought you were supposed to be spending the night somewhere.”

“I just said that so that you guys would leave without being worried. It’s not like I was throwing a wild party or anything, I was just going to watch some cartoons and go to bed early,” Jacob replied.

“You are the best behaved Gallagher child there ever was,” Ian noted, with a shake of his head. Then continued, saying, “Welp, sorry to crash your plans but we’re gonna be late if you don’t get a move on.”

“I’m not going Ian,” Jacob protested.

“Oh yes you are. I’ll carry you is I have to,” and Ian would too, “We’ve got fireworks to deliver to all the bad girls and boys of Chicago.”

“They’ll know I’ve been crying,” Jacob protested, refusing to budge even as Ian came over and began to drag him from his bed.

“We’ll tell them you smoked some bad weed. Now come on,” Ian said, dragging his little brother behind him. “Now go put on your shoes. I’ll grab the stash and then it’s Hello Southside.”

“I hate you,” Jacob muttered under his breath, not meaning a word of it.

“Jake, you’re a shittier liar then I am,” Ian yelled as he grabbed the fireworks from the hiding place in his room.

“Yeah, well, my hair’s prettier than yours,” came Jacob’s lame retort.

Ian just rolled his eyes, “I’m not Debbie, that doesn’t really work on me.” Then he proceeded to drag his little brother to the car and shove him in with the fireworks.

88888888

A few days later, Aunt Gina, Mom’s sister, came to visit absent husband but present obnoxious children. Gina had a set of twins, a boy and a girl named Donny and Tammy and they would be fourteen come March. Ian and Jacob had tried to hide in their rooms since they had been forbidden from skipping dinner under pain of grounding, but to no avail. They’d been found and forced by social convention to come and pretend to politely socialize with their relatives.

Jacob and Ian had taken refuge in the kitchen while Donny and Tammy played a video game in the den. Neither boy wanted to deal with their cousins for their own reasons. Ian; because he wasn’t technically related to them and they had locked him in a closet during a family party when he was twelve. Devil children. Jacob; because Donny and Tammy always made fun of him and had once pushed him out a tree resulting in a broken arm and three cracked ribs. It was an unspoken rule in the Gallagher household that one did not get left alone with the twins. 

“Do you think if I faked a seizure we could get out of this?” Jacob half whispered.

Ian just shot Jacob a look. “Aunt Gina’s a nurse, she’ll know if you’re faking. Maybe try chocking at dinner.”

“But that means we actually have to eat with them,” Jacob whined. 

“You think Mom’ll forgive me if I poison their food?” Ian wondered aloud.

“Did Carl kill you and is now wearing your skin as a suit? Of course Mom will kill you. Aunt Gina’s family,” Jacob’s voice rose into a falsetto on the last sentence as he imitated their Mom’s catchphrase when it came to that side of the family. 

“Kids,” a voice came from behind them.

“Shit. Dad,” Ian said, startled, “you scared the crap out of us.”

Clayton just shook his head a little bit and said, “You boys figure out a plan yet?” He disliked Aunt Gina because she didn’t think a Southside boy was good enough for her sister and she'd never quite forgiven him for Ian.

“Not yet,” Jacob replied, disappointment set into his entire body. He was just beginning to hit a growth spurt so now all of his limbs were turning against him. Now he was lanky with too many freckles and collar length red hair. The kids at school called him a dweeb but Debbie said he looked dreamy. 

“Shame,” Clayton sighed, pulling a beer from the fridge. Without even saying anything he handed one to Ian as well. Ian smiled in thanks. All the Gallagher men stood in the kitchen, each of them taking sips of their respective drinks and avoiding having to go face the in-laws.

“Dad,” Ian began to ask, his tone being the one that said I’m-not-really-related-to-these-people so-I-shouldn’t-have-to-be-here.

“Don’t even think about it,” Clayton replied, cutting off his son before he even had a chance to ask. 

“Ah come on,” Ian whined with a half-laugh.

“If we have to suffer so do you,” Jacob interjected.

“Boys,” Lucy’s voice carried into the kitchen and all of the Gallagher men seemed to hunch in on themselves just a little as she called out, “Dinner’s on the table. Come eat.”

“Yes, come on boys,” Aunt Gina’s mocking voice quickly followed, “Tammy and Donny are already at the table.”

“I told Fiona to do a family emergency call in forty-five minutes,” Ian muttered to Clayton as he passed him to head to the dining room.

“Good man,” Clayton whispered, briefly squeezing his son’s shoulder.

Once everyone was gathered at the table Jacob piped up, “Mom, who’s the extra plate for?” Indeed there was a seat next to Ian that was unoccupied but fully set.

“I was just wondering that myself,” Aunt Gina spoke up unnecessarily, “You don’t still set out for your imaginary friend do you Lucy-Goosey?” And she laughed her high-pitched squeak that mocked laughter. 

“Should of made it thirty,” Clayton muttered to Ian just before Lucy, struggling with her embarrassed flush, responded.

“Don’t be silly Jacob, it’s Friday. You know who’s coming.” Then she smiled like she had a secret. Every single one of the red headed Gallaghers turned in unison to stare at the matriarch of the family and give her a remarkably similar expression. Before they could say anything though there was a knock on the door.

“Oh good, he’s here,” Lucy said, reaching for her wine glass and taking a sip as the door was opened and the mystery guest walked into the dining room.

“Hello Mickey,” Lucy said with a grin as Mickey Milkovich appeared in all his glory, wearing a leather jacket that had Ian’s mouth watering and sporting a shit eating grin that rivaled Lucy’s.

“Sorry I’m late ma,” Mickey said, going over to kiss her on the cheek before taking his seat beside Ian, “It was collection day.”

“Are those Mencsino boys giving you problems again?” Clayton jumped in to the conversation, his grin matching his wife’s. 

Meanwhile, across the table Aunt Gina, with her slack-jawed long face and her bottled-blond spawn were aghast and agape at the scene. Aunt Gina looked like she didn’t know what or who to criticize first. Tammy looked smitten and Donny looked ready to challenge Mickey to some sort of pissing contest born out of strange mix of admiration and fear. 

Before Mickey could answer though Aunt Gina spoke up, demanding, rather shrilly, “And who are you?”

“This is Mickey,” Lucy piped in, “Or weren’t you listening? I remember that Mr. Roberts in the fourth grade said listening was your worst area but I’d thought you’d outgrown that. Silly me.” And Lucy let out a false stream of giggles. 

“I thought this was to be a family dinner,” Aunt Gina said through gritted teeth but still trying to keep the veneer of politeness firmly pasted on her pinched face. 

“Well Mickey is family,” Lucy protested as if it were never even a question of this dark haired punk belonging here.

Ian put his elbows on the table and hid his mouth behind his hands, his grin threatening to overtake his face. He kept glancing in-between Mickey, who looked pleased as punch at the chaos he was causing by his mere presence, and his Mom who was like a lioness toying with her food before the kill.

“And, pray tell,” Aunt Gina managed to say, “how is this boy family? Is he some long lost cousin? Or is he another one of your husband’s other children that happened to pop-up out of the wood work?”

Ian’s shoulders fell a little bit at that reminder and Mickey got real tense in his chair.

“He’s more my family than you are.” It was Jacob who spoke up. His statement ringing loud and clear as he faced Aunt Gina head on, his gaze never faltering as he dared her to challenge his claim. Ian and Mickey turned as one to look at this brave little red headed boy.

There was a tense silence and then Lucy spoke up, “No, he’s not Clayton's son. Mickey,” and she made sure to say the next words slowly as if Aunt Gina were a bit slow, “is Ian’s boyfriend. And he has been welcome to eat at this table for years now. You, I’m not so sorry to say, have lost that privilege.”

“You’re a bitch,” Tammy spoke up, glaring at her aunt.

“Apologize young lady,” Clayton quickly admonished, his expression of disapproval more for the parent then the child it had raised.

“Well,” Aunt Gina said, placing her napkin on the table and standing up, “if you’re going to be a child about this, just like everything in your life, I'll go. You treat everything as a joke and now you have this,” she paused, struggling to find the proper insulting word before settling on, “delinquent sitting at your table. Well, I for one will not stand for it. I have standards Lucy. Standards. You used to have them tpo. What happened to you?” She just looked so gravely disappointed in her sister and there was a pause where she expected her sister to answer her but received only silence. “All right,” she said, took a deep breath and composed herself, “all right, if that’s the way you want it. Kids were leaving, grab your coats.”

The twins bolted for the table but not before Tammy stuck her tongue out at Jacob and Donny flipped Ian off. Once the door was slammed and the sound of a mini-van was heard squealing down the street Lucy just looked up, and said, completely composed, “Who wants pizza?”

“Honey, you’ve prepared a lovely meal that we can eat,” Clayton began, trying to be sensitive.

“Oh you don’t want to eat that, I put laxatives in everything. I figured my sister talked so much shitake mushrooms that it should have a chance to come out the other end,” Lucy stated, taking another long drink of her wine.

“Mom,” Ian and Jacob both said with admiration. Even Mickey looked impressed.

“So, pizza it is then. Jacob, Clayton, will you help me clear the table,” Lucy issued, “Ian, throw those chicken breasts to the Benford dogs, it’ll teach them to shit on my petunias.”

“Will do,” Ian agreed. As the rest of the family moved into the kitchen Ian grabbed Mickey’s arm, pulled him close, and asked in a low whispered, “How much did Mom pay you for that stunt?”

“Hundred bucks,” Mickey announced proudly, “And I didn’t even do half of what she wanted.” 

“Fuck,” Ian breathed out to prevent himself from saying ‘I love you’ and he dragged Mickey close and kissed him with all the force he could muster. Mickey responded in kind, enjoying the aggression of this dance, the physical cues he could read.

“Ian, I said feed the dogs, plural, not kiss this horn dog,” Lucy’s voice caused Ian and Mickey to break apart. She looked overly amused.

“Did you just use the word horn-dog?” Ian asked, appalled in the way only teenagers can be.

“Shoo,” was Lucy’s response as she flicked her dish towel at him. 

Ian laughed and grabbed the offending dish, heading toward the backdoor. “You staying for the actual dinner Mick?”

“Already here,” Mick said, opening up the backdoor for Ian, “Might as well.”

Ian just grinned in response. If Mickey stayed for dinner that meant that somehow, during the night, they would end up in Ian’s room, and they would fuck and then Mickey would spend the night, making up some lame excuse how it was too late to go home now so he might as well stay. “Yeah,” Ian agreed, “Might as well.”

And Mickey grinned too.


	16. The Sixteenth Run

Ian is seventeen and falling down drunk. His vision is blurred but he vaguely recognizes the street he’s on. Maybe. He takes another swig of the bottle of whiskey he’s been working his way through and takes another stumbling step. It burns a bit going down but at least he’s so far gone he doesn’t really taste it anymore. He takes another step and then suddenly someone is helping keep him upright, standing up his side, a vaguely familiar arm under Ian’s shoulders. At first he thought it was Lip but turning his head to the side he realized it was Mickey. He smiled and felt dizzy.

“Hey Mickey,” Ian managed to say, tripping over the e sounds. 

“Jesus, Gallagher, what the fuck happened to you?” Mickey questioned even as he hauled Ian up the front steps to the Milkovichs’ house of horrors. He managed to kick the door open and Ian leaned so far forward he nearly ended up branding his head on the floor. Mickey pulled the other boy upright again. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Just a, just a wittle bit. A teeny, tiny bit,” Ian replied, his inability to say certain sounds coherently working against his statement. 

“Mickey what the fuck did you do?” Mandy demanded, seeing the falling down drunk state of her best friend.

“It’s Mandy,” Ian half-yelled. “Look Mickey, it’s Mandy,” then he leaned in close to Mickey and drunk whispered, “It’s Mandy,” like Mickey wasn’t already aware of that fact.

“Yeah, I know that dumbass. Just, be quiet for a minute.” Ian let out a giggle. “And I didn’t do anything to him. I found him like this wandering up and down the block.”

“Mickey,” Ian said quietly.

“What?” Mickey responded, his irritation at the situation bubbling to the surface.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Ian said, looking a bit green around the gills.

“Ah shit,” Mickey cursed under his breath as he half-pushed, half-pulled Ian to the toilet in Mickey’s room. They made it just in time for Ian’s knees to hit the floor as he vomited up a good portion of the whiskey he’d consumed.

“Jesus, Gallagher, how much did you drink?” Mickey couldn’t help but ask as Ian continued to vomit. Ian gave no response but to give another heave, and Mickey resisted the urge to gag in sympathy. The red head was in for one bitch of a hangover. 

Unable to handle the sight of Ian Gallagher throwing up his liver into his toilet any longer, Mickey pulled Ian’s cell phone from his pocket and went into his room. He stared at the phone, trying not to think about what he was going to do. The stuffed snake and hawk he’d stolen from a museum years ago stared at him in judgment for his delay. In the bathroom, Ian had progressed to a more dry heave friendly point in his conversations with the toilet.

Sighing Mickey punched in the passcode and then quickly scrolled to find the number he was looking for. After a ring, the phone call connected.

“Ian?,” a familiar female voice said, “Where are you? We’re worried---”

“It’s Mickey,” the dark haired boy interrupted, “Look Ian’s not gonna be able to come home tonight. Real sick. He’s crashing at mine.” And then Mickey hung up, unable to try and justify his actions to himself. 

“Mick,” a weak voice called from the bathroom.

“You left him in there alone?” Mandy asked as she burst into his room uninvited, holding a glass of water and a handful of pills, “Dickface” and she proceeded to go mother Ian.

Maybe mother wasn’t the right word, but it certainly showed she cared. Mandy knelt beside Ian, inquired how he was feeling and when he answered with a groan she stroked his hair in sympathy. She had him sip the water she’d gotten him and made him swallow the advil she’d carried in. After he did that she just rubbed his back as he slumped on the toilet for a few more minutes before she urged him to stand. 

Ian didn’t get further then Mickey’s bed before collapsing onto the coarse red blanket and curling into fetal position. Mandy quickly kissed his forehead and told him if he needed anything she’d be back later and just down the hall. Mickey rolled his eyes at his sister’s mollycoddling but internally he recognized the envy that his sister could do all of this without having to defend her actions. 

Once Mandy left, Mickey came and sat beside the drunk teenager. “What happened?” Mickey asked softly, his voice quiet and serious, betraying how much he did actually care about what had happened to fuck up his Gallagher so badly.

Ian was quiet and then said, his tone caught in-between a laugh and a sob, “I didn’t get in.”

“What?” Mickey asked, his brow now wrinkled as he tried to figure out what Ian meant.

“I didn’t,” Ian had to stop to take a few shaky breathes, before continuing, “I didn’t get into WestPoint.” His bottom lip began to tremble as he spoke the next words, “They didn’t want me.”

“Fuck,” Mickey breathed out. He knew exactly how much Ian had wanted this, how he had trained and studied and done everything under the sun except blow the President, and it wasn’t enough. Ian truly was a Southside kid, because you learn on the Southside that no matter how hard you work for something it will never be enough to get it. But Ian was supposed to be the one who got what he wanted. He’d done so much more than everyone else, he was supposed to prove hard work could pay off. But it hadn’t. Maybe it never would. Mickey leaned forward after making sure his bedroom door was closed and began to rub Ian’s back. He even managed to choke out the word, “Sorry.”

Ian just nodded and looked like he was using every ounce of drunken will power to not cry. If there was ever a more pathetic sight then the one he saw before him Mickey would be hard pressed to find it. Mickey couldn’t take it anymore and he said quietly, “You can cry if you want.”

Ian nodded and a few tears began to leak out. He tried to keep it contained but once he started he couldn’t seem to stop, it just escalated. But he knew better then to be loud about it because this was, after all, the Milkovich house and crying boys weren’t really aloud. The tears were salty and they made him more parched but it felt so good to finally cry about it. His dream was over now, it had been killed by a clean bullet in the form of a letter in the mail, and now he would mourn its sudden, but perhaps inevitable, passing. 

Mickey just sat with him as he let it out, all of the aggression and pain and hope, it bled out onto Mickey’s pillow in the form of Ian’s tears and muffled sobs. There wasn’t much he could do, Mickey knew that, but he could sit here and make sure Ian didn’t choke on his own snot and vomit. He could guard him against the cloying sympathy of the Gallagher clan that was sure to come and just allow him to be sad without trying to hide it. It wasn’t much but it was what Ian needed.

After a time, Ian sobs lost their intensity before they faded into the familiar sleeping pattern Mickey refused to admit he knew so well. The red headed boy looked just like that, a boy, as he slept curled in a ball, his eyelashes still clinging to a few tears, and his hands clenched into limp fists as if to fight off the bad dreams. Mickey gave a rather large sigh and then mentally cursed himself for sounding like such a fag. But that didn’t stop him from removing Ian’s shoes, or shifting him into a more comfortable position, or getting a glass of water and placing it on the nightstand for when Ian woke up with a giant headache. 

Many people wouldn’t understand why Ian was so distraught over this rejection. After all, he had gotten into all of the other schools he’d applied to, along with being welcomed most aggressively into their ROTC programs. He’d been promised scholarships, and all the classes and physical training and leadership opportunities he could shake a stick at from The University of Chicago, Notre Dame, and so many other fancy schools it was ridiculous. But it wasn’t THE school. It wasn’t the one that mattered. 

And Mickey got that. He knew what it was like to have disappointment and rejection shoveled down your throat to the point that you wanted to vomit. He also knew Ian would recover, would prop himself up, shake the dust of disillusionment off and take another path that would still lead to yelling orders at people in some foreign desert. Gallaghers were good at getting up with the world beat them down. 

So tomorrow, after Ian began to recover from his hangover, Mickey knew he would begin looking at other ways to get to his goal of being an officer. He would smile at his family, say he’d had a rough night but also time to think, and he would select one of those overly aggressive colleges, and he’d hide his WestPoint shaped scar on his heart. Tonight though, he would sob into Mickey’s pillow and mourn the passing of hope that came from dreaming. Here, in the room where it all began, Ian dropped his guard and allowed himself to show how deeply the wounds of his childhood went. Because he knows at least here he won’t get hallow sympathy or suggestions of how to make it better, but he would get quiet understanding. 

Mickey removed Ian’s shoes and took off his belt before throwing a blanket that had been curled up in a ball on the shitty couch in Mickey’s room for over a decade over the sleeping boy. They he crawled over the younger kid and laid down next to him and watched him breathe. Steady, in and out, in and out, until Mickey was breathing at the same pace. Tomorrow they’d leave this room and face the world, but for now it was enough to hide away and sleep.


	17. The Seventeenth Run

Ian is seventeen and he’s graduating high school. He will be the second Gallagher kid to do so from this generation, third if you counted Fiona’s GED. He’s wearing the overly bright blue polyester robes with the cardboard cap and he even has a pair of yellow honor’s cords that make him feel a bit like an imposter. Lip was the smart one, full ride to MIT that he would accept or Ian and Fiona would both kill him, yet he was also the one to graduate a semester late. Still, he should have been the one giving a speech at graduation or something, while Ian felt awkward just sitting out on the lawn in one of those plastic folding chairs. 

The sun was hot and Ian could feel the sweat already dripping down his neck. He was sitting in-between David Frinkler and Abby Granger, two people he had never really talked to, and he was resisting the urge to turn around and look out into the crowd to try and find his family. He wasn’t actually sure who all was coming, it was a constantly growing then shrinking group, but he knew that at the very least Mom, Dad, Jacob and Fiona would be there. 

“Can’t believe we’re really graduating,” David commented, driven by a mixture of boredom and misplaced nostalgia to speak to people he’d never spoken a single word to before. He was a shorter boy with brown hair and eyes that were set a little too far away from his nose.

“Yup,” Ian replied, polite and bored. 

“I mean, in a few months we’ll all be at college. How crazy is that?” the kid seemed genuinely surprised. “So where are you going next year?” 

“University of Chicago. Yourself?” Ian asked, fiddling with his honors cords.

“Stanford. My dad wanted me to go to Princeton but I don’t think I could handle Jersey,” David confided. “What about you Abby? Where are you going to school?

“I’m taking a year off,” the mousey blond hair girl replied, “I’m going to go to Cambodia and help a non-for profit demine the rice fields there.” 

Ian just sat there as David and Abby began talking about what they planned to do over the summer and Ian resisted the urge to try and strangle himself. There was a reason he avoided school based functions unless Jacob was participating in them; he could not stand these people. Many of them were good, wholesome individuals but none of them had ever been to the Southside unless they were doing some bullshit community service project to beef up their college applications. They didn’t know anyone who hadn’t graduated high school whereas Ian’s closest friends and family had less of a chance of graduating then of being a drug runner. It frustrated him on a deep level, like an itch he could never scratch, but he didn’t know how to put his anger and irritation into words.

Thankfully the ceremony began and the conversation among the classmates died down. The speeches were boring and trite and full of the same sentimental bullshit that had been shoved down their throats for the past year. By the time they got around to calling out the names Ian was settling in to have a nice cat nap. But then his row was standing and the Vice-Principle spoke each name, a smarting of applause following each one.

His name was read out slowly, “Graduating with Honors and the Distinguished Service Award: Ian Clayton Gallagher.”

And a section of the crowd fucking erupted. People where on their feet screaming, cheering, yelling and cursing in joy as Ian accepted his diploma and the handshake of congratulations. A firework went off and Ian grinned knowing Carl had somehow gotten into the Ice Cream Truck’s stash. He waved to the crowd as he left the stage, a grin plastered to his faced, and he drank in the vague looks of horror on so many of his former classmates faces. 

When he sat down David leaned over a bit, “Always got to cause a scene huh?” he asked good-naturedly.

Ian just grinned in return.

After the ceremony was over, the caps tossed and the final false farewells to classmates were taking place Ian began to try and locate his family in the milling crowd. The only problem was that every time he tried to make it through the crowds some teacher or student or parent would grab him and congratulate him. He was fairly positive he didn’t know at least half of these people.

“Hey Gallagher,” a brash voice called out, and turning Ian was confronted with an unlikely sight; Mickey Milkovich at a graduation.

“Mickey,” Ian breathed out, a smile quickly replacing his bewildered expression. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he confessed as he made his way to stand in front of the dark haired man.

“Well that just goes to show they’ll even let idiots like you graduate,” Mickey replied good naturedly, snagging Ian’s cap from him. “You look like a dumbass in this thing you know that right?” he remarked as they began to make their way through the crowd. 

Ian just punched Mickey in the arm as they continued to search for the other Gallaghers. Eventually, after a three way phone call between Ian, Lucy and Fiona, it was decided that everyone would just meet back at the Northside house.

Once there Ian ditched the robes and cords in his room and joined the party downstairs. Since no one was really coming over for the graduation party besides family and friends who didn’t attend Xavier the booze was already flowing. Clayton had started up the grill in the backyard to make burgers and brats and Jacob was playing an intense game of hide and seek with anyone he could convince. 

Ian found Mickey in the kitchen nursing a beer as he glared at some veggie wraps Lucy had made. “They’re not gonna bite you,” Ian said with mock sympathy.

“I don’t know man, something about them is just not right,” Mickey took another swig of his beer, before he shrugged his shoulders before turning to Ian. “So how long you gotta stay here before we can ditch? Mandy’s got something she wants to do with you but since her and Lip are currently in the shitter she figured it’d be best if you came to her.”

“Probably an hour, hour and half, then we can sneak out. Why?” Ian asked, “We on a time frame?”

“Nah, but there’s only so much of the suburban family life style I can take before I start to break out in hives,” Mickey replied.

“Asshole,” Ian returned, snagging the beer from Mickey’s hand and taking a drink. 

“Ian,” Clayton’s voice called out, “Ian? Ah there you are,” the red headed patriarch moved into the kitchen, “I feel like I haven’t seen you all day. Hello Mickey.”

Mickey just raised his hand in an awkward half wave as Clayton came over and embraced Ian. 

“Now, your mother has her own gift she’s going to give you but I wanted to give you your graduation present now. I know you and your friend here,” Calyton nodded at Mickey in a way that let him know he was more than a friend, “are probably going to want to hit the town. It’s your big day and all. So here.” And he pulled out a small box from his pocket.

Ian took it and undid the ribbon and opened the lid. There was a pause and then, “Holy shit,” was all Ian could think to say, and then, “You got me a car?” 

Ian looked up from his new set of car keys to look into the slightly bashful face of his father. “Well it’s not really a car. It’s a truck. I figured since you’re going to be hauling all that ROTC equipment around you might as well have some place to stick it when you come home to visit.”

“Thanks Dad,” Ian said as he went in and hugged Clayton. It was a hug the held on, both men gripping each other tight as if trying to express what they could not say in words through the pressure of their arms and hands. “I glad you’re my father,” Ian said so that only Clayton could hear. The older man squeezed his son even tighter for a moment, as he blinked to fight back tears and he nodded.

“Well I better go get those burgers on the grill,” Clayton remarked, swallowing thickly as he released Ian from the hug and made his way back to the yard.

“Dude, your dad bought you a car,” Mickey said, emphasizing the last word by over enunciating each letter. He looked as stunned as Ian felt. “A fucking car.”

“I guess so,” Ian agreed, gripping his new keys in his hands.

And there was a silence that descended on the kitchen and it threatened to extended into awkwardness but then Mickey piped up, “So I guess we’ll be breaking in your truck tonight.” And he gave Ian that look that conveyed that he was getting laid later. 

Hell yeah they’d be breaking in the truck tonight, Ian couldn’t up but think as he gave Mickey a once over and smirked. Mickey grinned in return before grabbing his beer back and taking another swig. It was a good day in the Gallagher house and to the victor went the spoils.


	18. The Eighteenth Run

Ian is eighteen and balls deep in Mickey and he swears that by all that is holy if someone even so much as thinks about walking in on them he will slit that person’s throat. It’s been the first time they’ve actually been able to be alone together in weeks, due to Ian moving into college and Mickey having to step up a bit more in the family business due to Joey getting thrown in jail again and Mandy and Lip fighting and Lip moving away to MIT and the Gallagher clan trying to find its balance again. Sure the boys had hung out but they’d both missed the physical connection. Dr. Sherman said it had to do with the inability to express one’s self in words manifesting in a physical expression of the self. Ian just knew he missed Mickey and he knew Mickey missed him.

They were in Ian’s dorm room, a cramped area that felt like a closet at times considering he had to share it with his roommate, but said roommate wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. He was spending this Friday night with some friends and thus Ian had jumped on the chance to have Mickey over. They’d played some basketball on the Southside before grabbing some shitty pizza and heading to Ian’s dorm where they were currently engaging in their favorite activity. 

By the time they’d finished and were falling asleep on the too small twin bed which gave them an excuse to be pressed as close to each other as humanly possible. Avoiding falling off the bed and all that jazz. For the first time in weeks though, Ian felt well and truly relaxed and he could feel himself drifting off to sleep with a smile on his face that seemed to be a by-product of being around Mickey.

The next day, at the impossible hour of 5:30 in the morning, Ian’s roommate, one Victor “Call me Vic” Bernstein barreled in through the dorm door. It startled Ian awake but thankfully Mickey could sleep through a hurricane if he so chose. 

“What the fuck?” Ian asked, his voice muffled and struggling against sleep.

“Sorry man,” the short kid replied, nervously respiking his brown and purple streaked hair. He made sure the door was locked and bolted as he continued to speak, “Look, I really didn’t think I’d be back so soon. But like, last night, the party got really crazy and Jenny Denny broke out some acid and I definitely had way too much. And like the trip was good man, super good, but then I woke up this morning and realized I may have, sorta, accidentally slept with Annie.” He took another nervous breath, going over to the window and making sure the blinds were firmly shut. “So anyway, now Brent’s out for blood and I’m hoping you won’t sell me out.” And there came the puppy dog expression.

Ian would have rolled his eyes but it would have taken too much effort. Yeah, he had to be up in a half-hour for PT but he was not equipped to deal with his roommate’s drama this early in the morning. 

“I’m not gonna tell him you’re here,” Ian mumbled, not even looking at Vic. The red head just pushed himself up against Mickey, determined to enjoy the feel of him before he had to go run.

“Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you. You’re a real pal Ian,” Vic breathed out, his shoulders relaxing as he took a seat at his desk and proceeded to continue to talk, as if now that Ian was up that gave him a free pass to talk his ear off. “Sorry about coming back so early. I mean, I know you and your boyfriend thought you’d have more time together before I came back. And I just wanted to let you know that I am totally cool with you being gay. I mean, if you want to bring him round more often you are more than welcome. Just know that I don’t mind.”

“That’s great,” Ian said, cutting off Vic before he could continue on his speech of good intentions. “But can you please be quiet, Mickey’s still sleeping.” I want to still be sleeping, is what he wanted to say but he figured it wouldn’t be best to have a fight with his roommate this early in the year. 

“Yeah, sure man, sure. Totally understand,” Vic nodded, and then proceeded to drag out his physics textbook and work on some of his homework.

Ian allowed himself to lay there for a few more minutes before he got up and began getting dressed. His gym bag was already packed so he didn’t have to worry about that, he’d eat a protein bar on the way and then grab breakfast afterward from the dining hall, and hopefully be able to spend some time with Mickey before he decided to head back to the Southside.

Ian was sitting on the edge of his bed tying his shoe laces when Mickey rolled over, blinked a few times and asked, in a voice full of sleepy confusion, “What time is it?”

“Too early,” Ian replied softly, “Go back to sleep.” Then he leaned over and kissed the sleepy boy. It was returned in kind, the type of kiss that was just that, a kiss for a kiss’s sake. There were no expectation, only comfort and familiarity.

“I’ll be back in about an hour and a half,” Ian said, after the kiss ended. He grabbed his bag and before he headed out the door he remarked sardonically, “Be a good boy now.” Without even turning around he knew Mickey was giving him the finger and that thought caused him to laugh all the way down to the gym.

8888

“So Gallagher,” a brash voice interrupted Ian’s mental count of his weight reps.

Ian sighed and then said, “Yes Brent?”

“You seen your roommate around?” the muscular man asked as he moved to spot Ian.

“Can’t say that I have,” Ian replied.

“You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you? Because that would be a shitty thing to do if you were. I mean, how would you feel if someone slept with your girl?” Brent asked in his special passive aggressive way.

Ian put the weights away and grabbed his towel, dabbing at his forehead and neck. “Well that’d be a little difficult considering I’m gay.”

Brent’s shocked face was one of the best things he had ever seen, and he could literally see the junior try and process the new information. He seemed to be trying to figure out if Ian was joking or not. Ian laughed and went to answer his now ringing phone.

“Is this Mandy, the first Milkovich to graduate high school?” Ian asked, grinning as he reminded his friend of her accomplishment.

“The one and only,” came the reply.

“What’s up?” Ian asked, as he waved good-bye to Brent and grabbed his stuff as he headed out of the gym.

“Have you seen Mickey? He didn’t come home last night and normally I wouldn’t care but the cops were just here. Seems like some shit went down last night and Dad’s somehow involved. Him and a few of my brothers. Mickey wasn’t picked up by the cops yet so I was wondering if you knew where he was. Let him know to lay low for a while and all that.”

“Yeah, he was with me last night. No way he was involved,” Ian assured her and he could hear her sigh of relief. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Mandy assured him, but Ian was already planning to stop by later to see if she needed anything in person.

“So what happened?” Ian asked, shrugging on a hoodie as he walked across campus to his dorm. Breakfast could wait.

“I’m not sure. A drug deal gone bad or something. I just know there’s a body count. And not just people like us who the cops couldn’t give two shits about. Northside type of kids. It’s gonna be like your Grammy all over again,” Mandy sighed, her words filled with weight and worry. 

“Do you have an alibi?” Ian asked, concerned, “I don’t want you getting pinned for some shit you didn’t do.”

“Don’t worry, I was out with Jenna and Sherry last night. We were at the clubs when all of this supposedly went down,” Mandy assured him. “Can you let Mickey know what’s going on? I have to go talk to the DA today and I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Sure Mands, no problem,” Ian agreed. “If you need anything you just let me know all right.”

Ian could hear Mandy shifting and he knew she was nodding in agreement. “I’ll call you later.”

“Take care of yourself,” Ian responded and then hung up.

When Ian got back to his room Mickey was up and talking shop with Vic. Apparently Mickey had just earned himself a whole new set of richer, loyal clientele. It was a bit weird though, to see his hipster roommate attempting to bond with his future drug dealer. Mickey was obviously enjoying messing with this gullible guy. 

“Vic, get out,” Ian ordered.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Vic asked.

“Seriously, get out. I’ll explain later,” Ian said, pushing his roommate out the door.

“You interfering with my business?” Mickey asked, he was only wearing his pants at this point.

“Mick, we need to talk,” Ian said seriously, taking his chair from his desk and spinning it around before sitting down to face his boyfriend. “Your dad got arrested last night and a few of your brothers. It’s bad, real bad.”

“Who told you this?” Mickey asked as he became tense, his body losing the relaxed edge it had had earlier.

“Mandy. She called a little bit ago to let me know what was going on. Apparently there’s going to be some murder charges, maybe even federal ones, along with the drug stuff,” Ian explained.

“Fuck,” Mickey breathed. He ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck. I never should have let Iggy go on that run. I knew it, I knew it.”

“Mickey, what’s important now is making sure you and Mandy are square so that the cops won’t try and connect you with this,” Ian said, his brow furrowed as he watched his lover try to hide his agitation. 

“I gotta go,” Mickey said, putting on his shirt and gathering his things from around the room. “I’ll go see Dad, figure out how bad the fallout from this is going to be. Got to figure out what they’re being charged with. Fuck.”

“Mick,” Ian began, watching the dark haired man checked and double checked that he had everything.

“Mandy’s going to talk with the DA, that’s good. Hopefully we can get a plea deal, stay out of the federal courts,” Mickey seemed to be talking to himself now, listing off what needed to be done. Sure his dad had done time, but never for murder.

“Mick,” Ian said again, this time standing up and touching the irritated boy’s shoulder.

“What?” Mickey barked, turning to face his lover.

Ian didn’t say anything, just wrapped Mickey in a hug. The other man stiffened for a bit before gradually relaxing. “If you need anything you let me know,” Ian told him, “We’ll get through this.” Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian and squeezed briefly before letting go and stepping out of the embrace.

“I gotta go,” Mickey said, calmer this time.

Ian nodded and watched as Mickey left. He hoped Terry got locked up for life but he knew better than to say that to the Milkovich siblings. He would support them as best he could while hoping the criminal justice system actually worked for once. Now it was a waiting game. Until the verdict was read Ian would be Mandy’s rock and Mickey’s crutch because that’s what you did for people you loved, you held them up in difficult times and pretend not to notice when they faltered. Sometimes that was all a person could do.


	19. The Nineteenth Run

Ian is eighteen and he’s just been shot. It was sudden, and random, and it shouldn’t have happened at all but somehow it did. He had been on the Southside to drop off a few things at Fiona’s, check in on his siblings, and stop by to see how Mandy and Mickey were holding up now that their dad had been sentenced to 25 years in prison. Their brothers had gotten lighter sentences but it’d still be a few years before they got parole. 

He’s been walking over to the Milkovich house when he saw Carl playing with some of the neighborhood kids. It was so rare to see Carl interacting with anyone his own age that Ian had gone to get a better look. And then there had been that car that slowed down, rolled down the window and aimed a gun out into the vacant lot. Ian had seen the gun and gone with his gut reaction; push Carl to the ground. When he did that though, he’d left himself open as a target.

It hurt, Ian thought, as he fell to his knees. He’d been hit in the abdomen and the blood was soaking his shirt and hoody. He tried to push his hands into the wound to stop the blood flow but he didn’t think was doing a very good job. Kids were screaming and he heard Carl frantically yelling about something. He wasn’t quite sure what. The world was starting to get fuzzy and Ian knew he was going into shock. 

He coughs and he can taste the faint metallic flavor of his own blood. A few drops trickle out of his mouth and hit the asphalt. There are blue and red lights coming closer now and Ian wishes he could tell Carl not to worry. But words seem hard to form now and there is a darkness creeping into his vision. Then someone is moving his hands off of his wound and Ian welcomes the darkness.

He wakes up in a hospital room to the worried faces of Lucy and Clayton. “Dad?” he crocks out, and Lucy is up and getting him to sip some water from a cup by the bedside.

“Hey buddy,” his Dad says, clearly relieved, “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Ian replies, still groggy.

“Close,” Clayton explains, moving his chair closer to the bed and holds Ian’s hand. Like he needs the reassurance his son is still alive. “You were shot.” And he has to stop, force himself to take a deep breath before continuing, “The doctor said your surgery went fine, you’ll be up and running in a few weeks. It was,” he stops and swallows, “it was a bit hairy there for a minute or two but you pulled through it. Gallaghers always do.”

“Where’s Carl?” Ian asked suddenly, trying to rise himself up. Lucy came over and gently pushed him back into the pillows.

“He’s fine, just fine. A bit shook up about the whole thing, understandably, but he’s physically unharmed. He’s out in the waiting room with Jacob,” Lucy tells him. “Would you like to see him?”

“Yes,” Ian says.

A few minutes later most of the Gallagher clan has invaded his hospital room. Carl makes a beeline for him, jumping up on the bed to give him a fierce hug that attempts to avoid putting pressure on his lower abdomen. It doesn’t work but it’s a nice effort. Debbie is next, her eyes red from crying, and she clutches Ian’s hand fiercely in hers. Jacob stands beside Debbie, his hand on her shoulder, as he looks over his brother’s prone body in the hospital bed. Fiona, still dressed for work, give him a kiss on the forehead. She tells him Liam is with Shelia but she’ll be sure to bring him around for a visit. She then pulls out a cellphone and calls Lip.

“Tell him your alive so he doesn’t try to come back home. He can’t keep skipping classes. It’s college, not high school,” Fiona scolds, even though it’s not directed at anyone in the room.

The phone rings two times before connecting and Ian knows he sounds like death when he says, “Lip. It’s Ian.”

It takes a good ten minutes of struggling to talk around his big brother’s ranting but he manages to convince Lip not to hop on a plane to come to Illinois. Still, it was nice to talk to his brother for a little bit. They’d both been so busy recently that they hadn’t really talked in weeks. Lip’s voice was familiar, it filled Ian’s head with memories that were more tactile, fragments of an existence before real memories could take hold. The feel of hand held in his, a warm embrace, a giggle and the taste of stolen candy split equally. It made Ian smile.

Eventually the phone call ends, and each member of the family leaves but only after giving Ian a kiss and assurances that they’d be back tomorrow. He just smiles, feeling the effects of the morphine, and he begins to drift in and out of consciousness. Soon his room is empty and he lets himself sleep for just a little bit, his body demanding rest.

He wakes up later, nearly all the lights in his room off, but he senses the presence before he sees him. Mickey is sitting beside his bedside, his hoody is rumpled and his jeans are stained. His hair looks a mess and he’s just staring at Ian, like he’s counting his breathes. 

“Hey Mick,” Ian manages to get out.

Mickey doesn’t move from his position of vigil nor does he falter as he says, quietly but with intensity, “Don’t you ever do something so stupid again. You hear me?” and he looks up to stare into Ian’s eyes, “Never fucking again.” 

Ian nods and says, “I wasn’t planning on it.” His words come out far too serious for his liking.

Mickey doesn’t say anything for a time, but he stands up and moves closer to Ian. He takes his hand, with its faint coating of dirt and grime, and places it on Ian’s neck. His fingers press down, just enough to feel the steady constricting of the veins, and he stares down at this hospital bound boy, his expression carefully blank.

There is nothing but silence for several minutes, only the breathes of the two boys fill the empty spaces left by unsaid words. Something is happening, something has shifted, but Ian isn’t sure what. He just knows that if Mickey leaves he will cry and he is beginning to realize that his life is important to Mickey. More than the boy has ever expressed until this moment. And there is a vulnerability in realizing how much another person means to you, it has stripped them both of their armor. So they stand naked, emotionally speaking, in this hospital room and they’re both pretending they’re not terrified.

“I love you,” Mickey says so quietly Ian’s half sure he’s hallucinated it, “but if you ever do something stupid like this again I’ll kill you myself.”

Ian simply nods but his insides are filling up with a wonderment that can only happen when feelings are admitted to. He wants to say it back but he knows if he does so now he’ll frighten Mickey off like a skittish deer. So instead he raises his hand up and puts it over Mickey’s where it stays on his pulse. And he tries to convey with his eyes what he feels, how much Mickey means to him, how he is his rock. From the faint increase of pressure, for just the briefest of moments, Ian knows Mickey knows. He knows. And Ian falls asleep with a smile on his face, Mickey’s hand on his throat and the knowledge of a secret that can only ever be known by two people.


	20. The Final Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is the end of this story and I must confess I never anticipated it being this long. Thank you to everyone who reviewed or left kudos, especially stichandrepair, your feedback has been invaluable. It's been quite a journey with this story and I am so glad to have shared it with every one of you.

Ian is eighteen and he realizes that he is exactly where he wants to be. He’s sitting on the roof of that abandoned old roller rink they’d had Jacob’s fifteenth birthday at, lounging in a beat up lawn chair he’d snagged from someone’s yard a few months back. The sun is just beginning its descent; Mickey’s sitting beside him, drinking a beer and just enjoying the ending of a good day. And it had been a good day, filled with laughter, family and some mildly illegal activity.

Mickey pulled out his pack of smokes and lights one up, offering it to Ian after he’s taken the first drag. A shared cigarette, a shared sunset, it was almost romantic. But Ian knew better than to say anything along those lines. Instead he just enjoys the moment. 

They sit in comfortable silence, watching the beaten up skyline of Chicago become stained with the various colors of the setting sun. If he were in one of his professors’ lectures he’s sure they'd want him to analyze the symbolism of dying industrialism and Dr. Sherman would want to talk about how death can be beautiful and lead to rebirth. But they’re not here. And Ian knows if he were to voice any such thoughts Mickey would just tell him to shut the fuck up and enjoy the sunset. Sometimes a person just needed to appreciate what was instead of trying to figure out the maybes. 

A few more cigarettes later Ian pulls out the last few fireworks from the summer’s stash that he’d hidden in his backpack. His stomach still twinged, the new scar tissue still tight, as he leaned over but he ignored it in favor of tossing a couple of M-80s at Mickey. The older boy caught them with ease, not even dropping the lit cigarette from his mouth, and grinned around the tobacco and ash. 

Without even having to ask Mickey has his lighter out and began to light each of the fireworks’ fuses, one by one, and then chuck them off of the roof. They burst with a fiery brilliance against the backdrop of descending darkness and Ian laughed in joy. Mickey joined him in laughing whenever one of the fireworks came close to blowing up a lamppost, the glass of an out of use light bulb shattering with a spectacular flare. 

It wasn’t a moment many people would care about, more a snapshot then a postcard to be sent home, but Ian could think of no place he’d rather be. 

Ian is eighteen years old and he is happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews/comments would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading.


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